The Bitter Root
by emberlivi
Summary: Two paranoid prisoners of Azkaban, conspiracy within the Ministry, and the key to Voldemort's demise. It's a bit like the war, isn't it?  The sequel to Beneath a Clear Blue Sky.
1. Salem, Massachusetts, November 1994

**Standard disclaimer: **This story is based on characters created by JK Rowling. No money is being made from this and no copyright infringement is intended.

**AN**: Thank you so much for deciding to read this story. This is a continuation of the _Ebb and Flow,_ _Shown like the Sun_, and _Beneath a Clear Blue Sky_ story arc. It is OC heavy and takes place during GOF and OOTP.

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><p><em>There are things you can replace, and others you cannot<em>

_The time has come to weigh those things…_

—_The Grateful Dead_

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><p><strong>Salem, Massachusetts, November 1994<strong>

Althea's nails clicked against the narrow bed the drum solo from Orpheus' 'Sweet Satisfaction.' She stopped. _Maybe I should fold my arms instead_, she thought and swallowed. She wasn't sure what she should do with her hands in the room decorated in pastels…at least it was tasteful. She felt rather awkward for a woman whose exploits were featured in the _News of the World_, the _Sun_, and the _Mirror_. She winced. _It's almost like Sirius working on that bloody motorbike_. Her eyes focused upon the painting before her…a landscape—some marsh in North America, maybe. _Oh look, what is that bird_, she thought, as the slender grey bird extended his long, delicate wings, _it's_—her eyes widened. It was futile to focus her thoughts elsewhere but that tiny examination room. Her eyes left the painted landscape and drifted from the white ceiling to the pastel walls and to the various posters that decorated those walls. Contraceptive potions—she wrinkled her nose. She was never one for potions—charms worked just as effectively…and the one the Death Eater, disguised as a Healer-in-Training, cast upon her was particularly effective.

"Doing okay?"

Althea blinked. "Yes, yes, of course," she muttered and sighed.

She was particularly happy that Sirius was encouraged to stay in the waiting room. She imagined him very bored—growling or muttering at the time—and finally resigning himself to read the outdated witch magazines. Still, for him to come. Althea had been discrete about it—she hid the correspondence, the paperwork, and the pamphlets—and it was only by chance that Sirius discovered her plane ticket. Excited, for he had never flown in a plane before (and without consulting her), he purchased a ticket upon the same flight. As Althea waited in the airport terminal, her stomach a queasy mess as she second-guessed herself, she noticed the familiar black locks over—she really shouldn't have been surprised at his boldness—the morning's _Daily Prophet_. Realizing that she could no longer hide her intentions, she divulged the reason for her trip to Sirius upon that three-hour supersonic flight. If Sirius was upset or had qualms about her intentions, he did not show it for he seemed too preoccupied with the marvel of Muggle machinery.

"Okay," Healer Fox sighed and Althea heard her stand.

Okay. Okay? Althea frowned as Healer Fox washed her hands. She sounded neither enthusiastic nor somber, and Althea did not know what to think. Suddenly, she saw a delicate hand before her. The woman in the lilac lab coat helped Althea sit up.

"So?"

The middle-aged woman smiled. "I'll have you dress, and then we'll talk."

Althea nodded.

Healer Fox smiled once more and carefully closed the door. Althea exhaled loudly. She slid off the exam table and curled her toes into the plush blue carpet. _I've never had one smile at me before_, she thought as she tied her violet jersey wrap dress. _Frown, shake his head, but never smile_. A gentle knock on the door alerted Althea to Healer Fox's return. She hastily smoothed her dress and sat upon the examination table. Healer Cordelia Augusta Fox entered the exam room. Head of The Salem Witches Health and Fertility Center, she was mother of Bacchus T. Fox, the front man for Pan, and Althea believed his dark features came from his father. The petite, middle-aged witch with light green eyes and equally pale blonde hair sat before Althea on the rolling stool._ Out with it_, she thought, _tell me what I've heard countless times_.

"It's been thirteen years?"

Althea licked her lips as she nodded. _Thirteen years and two weeks_.

Healer Fox nodded slightly and opened Althea's file. Althea leaned forward in an attempt to peer into her file. She wrinkled her nose at the scribbled notes only decipherable to Fox.

"Anything else you would like to share?"

Althea swallowed, kicking her heels against the table. She shook her head.

Fox sighed as she flipped through the pink papers. "Nothing structurally abnormal—"

_Of course_—

"—no lesions or scar tissue—the ultrasound was within normal limits—"

_Whatever that means_—

"—your lab work is within range," she explained and frowned thoughtfully, "and you've carried one child to term."

"That was before—"

Healer Fox nodded once more. "I'll be frank," she began and Althea felt her stomach drop, "it's been thirteen years—"

"I know—"

"—since the curse was placed," she continued and looked up from the file, "and I doubt it is as strong as it once was."

Althea arched her eyebrow.

"We've handled cases like yours," she explained and cast a sympathetic look at Althea. "I'm seeing more of it now—I'm shocked at how many women your age were affected."

Althea shrugged. "There was a war," she murmured.

"Anyway," she began, and pulled a shiny pamphlet from underneath the file, "I think this could help."

Althea took the pamphlet in her hands and fought the urge to roll her eyes at the pensive witch looking off in the distance. The meadow, the wind, was it necessary? Did the model know she was photographed for such a pamphlet? She hoped the model was paid handsomely.

_The Obstruction Hex was a series of complex spells—_

"There, of course, is no guarantee and there are risks involved," she said and flipped to the fourth page of the pamphlet.

_Nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, acne, bloating, bleeding…_

_one reported case of transient gills and/or scales—_

"The procedure is costly and time consuming," she continued and pointed to the last page of the pamphlet. "You would need to come to Salem at least four times for the charm procedures—do you have a potions master?"

Althea let out a knowing laugh and cleared her throat. "I don't think he'd help me."

"Well, five times," she said," and we'll ship the potions to you."

"Are the potions weekly?" she asked, quickly flipping the pages of the pamphlet.

"Daily."

"Daily?" she murmured and wrinkled her nose. "And they don't taste of Butterbeer?"

Fox shook her head. "Afraid not," she said and crossed her legs. "It's a very strict regimen—I know—and once started, it can't be stopped. Compliance is an issue—"

"How long?"

"Four months—"

"Four months?" she repeated, her eyes wide.

Fox leaned forward. "It's a lot to take in—"

"How many of these have you performed?"

She screwed up her eyes. "Of your case…fifty."

Althea's eyes focused upon her black satin heels. "And all were successful?" she asked, repeatedly slipping her right heel off and on.

"The majority."

"If I'm to pay," she began and slid off the table to retrieve her shoe, "one thousand Bullions, I'd like to know the exact number."

Healer Fox frowned. "Thirty-eight," she answered, "and I don't expect you to make a decision today—"

Thirty-eight. Would Althea be thirty-nine? She sighed. Was it worth the risk? Once begun, the process could not be stopped—the risks were more than Healer Fox divulged…they had to be.

"All fifty with strict adherence to the regimen?"

Healer Fox shook her head. "No, with strict adherence thirty-eight," she said and smiled sympathetically at Althea. "It's a lot to think about," she added and handed Althea more literature. "Read this, discuss this with your partner—he seemed very supportive—"

Althea weakly smiled.

"And I'm sorry, again, but we don't allow the partner back here during consultation…I hope you understand."

"Of course," Althea murmured.

Healer Fox furrowed her eyebrows. "He isn't pressuring you," she began to ask, "for it could adversely affect the outcome—"

Althea vigorously shook her head. "No, no, it's my decision…mine, alone."

"Okay," she breathed and nodded to herself. "Any more questions?"

Althea shook her head.

"Well," she said, clapping her hands together as she stood, "I hope to see you again. "If you have any questions, do not hesitate."

"I won't."

"As I said, thirteen years is a heck of a time for a curse—"

_You've very little experience with Dark Magic, haven't you_?

"—and with a little magical persuasion—"

"Thank you," Althea said, standing.

"Think about it," she said, offering her hand.

Althea hastily shoved the literature into black purse before she exited for the waiting room. Was Healer Fox right? Would it take a bit of magical persuasion—a strict regimen of daily potions and monthly charms—to lift the curse upon her? For Healer Fox, the solution seemed simple, but was Althea willing to take that chance? To invest herself once more? _I'd almost hoped that she would've said nothing could be done_, she thought as she entered the rather empty waiting room. The sound of high-pitched laughter broke Althea from her thoughts. A toddler with bright red hair caught her attention. The boy clapped and squealed as Sirius had charmed his toy dragon to fly above their heads. The child's mother, very pregnant, seemed relieved another would seek to entertain her rambunctious boy. Althea blinked rapidly and inhaled a shaky breath. _Could we have this_, she wondered as Sirius noticed her entrance. Would Sirius insist on returning with her every month? He was still a fugitive, and the Ministry sought to increase its efforts in light of the Triwizard Tournament. The appointment of Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody wasn't solely Dumbledore's decision.

Sirius smiled as she approached, and Althea weakly smiled in response; however, Sirius' smile quickly faded to a look of concern.

Sirius stood. "It went—"

"Later," she whispered and forced a smile at the small boy. "Shall we?"

"Right," he sighed and helped her with her black wool coat.

The two quickened their steps in the brisk November wind. Althea held her coat tightly closed at its collar for the wind seemed to find every which manner of entering her coat. The two were quiet, except for the sound of Althea's heels and the brown oak leaves skidding across the grey pavement. She frowned—every thing seemed brown and grey at this time of year…lifeless, barren—a natural reminder of her visit.

"Thank God," Sirius said and nodded ahead of them.

Althea glimpsed the faded red brick front with the black sign, which gently creaked in the breeze, of Afina's newest clothing shop. As the two approached, the silver, shimmering letters appeared: _Otrera_. Sirius slipped his arm around her waist, and Althea caught a glimpse of the newest winter fashions before Sirius guided her toward the coffee shop next door. He held the door open for her and the two were greeted with the friendly door chimes.

"I'll get us something, then?" Sirius offered.

Althea nodded and removed her black cloche hat and coat. She inhaled deeply the comforting, inviting smells of the coffee, mulled cider, and fire. With every step, the floorboards creaked underneath her as she walked by rickety tables and mismatched chairs toward the fireplace. Her attention was split between the elderly wizards in a game of Wizard's Chess and Sirius flirting with the young woman behind the counter. _'Oh, England!' Oh please_, she thought and with a huff, she sat upon the leather sofa. Sirius rested his arm upon the counter and leaned forward—the girl giggled. She caught his disguised reflection in the glass case—his black hair now blond and his features handsome—she knew the young woman would not have been as receptive if she saw his true appearance. Althea rolled her eyes at Sirius's mock bashful routine. It had been a favorite before the war, when he pulled girls at the Leaky Cauldron (and still, he ended up in Althea's bed), and the Muggle clubs he frequented to check up on Althea (although he would never admit to doing so).

"Oh, I travel—"

"A travel writer?" the young woman asked.

Sirius smiled and laughed quietly. "You could say—"

"Oh, bollocks," Althea muttered.

Althea reached into her purse, shuffled through the papers and makeup, and pulled out the silver compact. She pressed the small button and the compact clicked open. She pretended to smooth her lipstick. _Answer_, she thought as Sirius pointed over the woman's shoulder. _Answer, you wanker_. Sirius continued to ignore the buzzing mirror in his trouser pocket. The woman smiled and nodded. Sirius grinned. The man behind the counter slid two beige mugs forward. Sirius winked, taking the mugs in his hands. He caught Althea's eye as he walked toward her—Althea folded her arms.

"She has yet to go to Afina's shop," he said, holding a mug before Althea.

Althea frowned as she took it. "Thank you," she murmured and took a sip of the tart, mulled cider. "God that it still works—"

"What?" he asked, sitting next to her.

"How any woman could ever believe that you're shy," she said and took another sip. "Bloody daft."

Sirius seemed content with himself. "Ah, lovely," he whispered and pulled a face as Althea narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're the father of a teenage girl," she said, her lips twitching to betray her smile.

Sirius shuddered. "Must you remind me," he murmured and took a large gulp of cider. "I don't _feel _that old. Do you?"

Althea raised the mug to her lips. "Act with _some_ maturity, my love."

Sirius laughed lowly.

Althea slid closer to him, slipping her legs upon the sofa. "How will you ever outdo her thirteenth birthday?" she asked, observing Sirius's pleased profile. "The Granian foal? Lessons with Camilla Woodhouse?"

Sirius shrugged.

"Christmas will be a disappointment, I'm sure."

Sirius shook his head. "So…?" he began slowly and raised his eyebrows.

Althea's stomach flipped. She recognized the small tinge of hope in his voice.

"It's…" she began and stared at the floating pulp in her mug, "been so long."

"Ah," Sirius whispered and kissed her cheek. "I love you," he whispered and kissed her cheek once more.

"Anyway, we have enough to worry about…Harry," she said, tapping her nails against the mug, "and that damn Triwizard tournament."

Only two weeks ago, the Goblet of Fire sputtered out the name of the fourth champion—Harry Potter—to the shock of all in attendance…including Harry. At first, the faculty were split in their assessment of Harry: had Harry overcome the age spells to place his name in the goblet? Althea had sided with the majority that believed that Harry Potter was an innocent and the perpetrator lurked amongst Hogwarts. How Althea loathed telling Sirius of the news! It had been an uneventful year for Harry until then. She waited until the night after Prudence's birthday party to tell him…which led Althea—at Sirius's insistence—to search out the castle for Peter Pettigrew into the wee hours of morning. Who else would've put Harry's name in the goblet? He disregarded her opinion that it was thoughtless prank by an of-age Slytherin in retaliation of some Quidditch vendetta.

Sirius's casual demeanor shifted—he was on alert, tense. "Any more news?"

Althea shook her head. "Dumbledore said that it was magically binding—Karkaroff was the most livid—"

Sirius growled. "That he is teaching children—"

"Maybe you could get a job at Durmstrang—"

Sirius's glare was murderous.

Althea rested her head upon Sirius' shoulder. "I can't imagine it to be an elaborate scheme to kill him…there are just too many variables," she said lowly and Sirius inhaled to speak—she knew he would mention his suspicion of Bertha Jorkins's disappearance in Albania. "It's completely stupid."

Sirius leaned closer to her. "Voldemort tried to kill him directly once and was unable to do so," he whispered and Althea saw the faint shimmer of the Vocal Obscuring Spell that surrounded them. "Watch Karkaroff."

Althea nodded. "I just can't think of anyone—Hogwarts staff, at least," she said as Sirius placed his arm around her shoulders. "Moody is investigating on Dumbledore's orders—"

"Good," he sighed and she felt him breathe in deeply. "Has he—"

"Made inquiries about you?" she finished and took a final sip of cider. She shook her head. "He knows what happened to me," she said, and raised an eyebrow when she realized that she did not receive her bouquet this year at Halloween—how odd. "Sent me flowers every year."

Sirius shifted. "Mad-Eye gave you flowers?"

Althea nodded. "He lost his wife—"

"Moody was _married_?" Sirius asked and let out a quiet laugh of surprise.

"Murdered by a Dark wizard," she explained and quickly frowned. "His eye…it can see through Concealment Charms, right?"

Sirius nodded.

Althea's left hand rested upon her right arm, her fingers absently stroked the fabric overlying her concealed tattoos. _He would know my secret, then_. She exhaled a ragged breath. _He would've known for years_.

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><p><strong>AN<strong>: Thank you so much for reading. Please don't hesitate to comment or review, I would love to know your feedback.


	2. Night of the Yule Ball, December 1994

**Night of the Yule Ball, December 1994**

Althea rested her elbows upon her dressing table and held the scarlet lipstick to her bottom lip. The glow of the crystal lamps softly illuminated her reflection as, with a steady hand, she applied the final coat. She capped her lipstick and once more looked upon her reflection. She winced at the pin that jutted into her scalp. Carefully, she adjusted one of the pins that secured the Northfield tiara—of platinum and aquamarine woven in an intricate pattern of ivy and flowers—to her scalp. Gran had hoped Althea would have worn such jewels for her wedding, but the Yule Ball would have to do. She twisted an unruly raven curl around her forefinger and allowed it to drop against her shoulder, her blue eyes drawn to her necklace—to the large aquamarine and diamond teardrops that winked in the soft light. Thin hands rested themselves upon her bare shoulders. She smiled at Sirius's reflection. He gently squeezed her shoulders—the heavily beaded cap sleeves pressed into her skin.

Sirius smiled crookedly.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?"

Sirius shook his head—his eyes seemed to linger upon her reflection. "God, I remember this dress…that night," he murmured. "I spent the night with the curtains drawn and a Silencing Charm."

Althea giggled. "Come off it."

"You were exactly what my dear mother warned me about," he said, his fingers lightly gliding up and down her arms. "I received a letter, too…warning me that I shouldn't dance with a half-blooded harlot—"

"She didn't use such kind words—"

"She would ruin me," he whispered in her ear—his moist breath caused her skin to tingle. "It was like she gave me her blessing."

Althea closed her eyes at touch of Sirius's lips upon her skin. "I'm already late," she said and felt Sirius frown against her neck.

He sighed and offered his hand to her as she stood. _All I remember is running in that damn frock_, she thought, _and Remus's teeth precariously close to my neck_. Althea stood before the full-length mirror, inspecting herself for the last time. Afina was inspired by the gown in Althea's tale of the fateful Winter Fête and sought to recreate the gown for the Yule Ball. The rich satin fabric seemed to alter its appearance in the light—from white to silver to the palest aquamarine as she turned—it complemented by the most delicate silver beading overlay. Afina had worked tirelessly—the dark circles below her eyes were evidence—despite the increased demand of her clothing line.

Sirius groaned. "Why must you leave me to an evening with Gran and Celestina Warbeck?"

Althea smoothed the bodice. "You have Moony—"

Sirius laughed with surprise—the corner of his mouth upturned into a smile.

"Isn't that what we're calling him now?" she teased, stepping forward. "Prudence and Afina seem keen to do so."

Sirius slipped his arms around her waist. "They're plotting something," he replied and playfully narrowed his eyes. "I heard what happened in Diagon Alley."

"How were they to know Melania had a fear of owls?" she questioned, suppressing a smile. "It is the major form of communication, after all." Althea felt the giggle build within her chest. "Anyway, it was Afina's friend that tripped and released all the cages," she continued as the giggle increased. "Who would've thought the cages were all linked?"

"Only if they were charmed—"

Althea heaved a great sigh and pulled him toward the door. "Shall we?"

She paused, feeling an overwhelming wave of nausea. She placed her hand upon her stomach.

"What's wrong?"

_Bloody potion_, she thought and swallowed.

Althea forced a smile. "Bloody corset," she said and grasped his hand.

The brilliant green potions in tiny purple crystal bottles were secured in the cupboard under the bookshelf in her office at Hogwarts. Two weeks after her visit to Salem, Healer Fox seemed to be expecting Althea's owl and shipped the first neatly wrapped, non-descript package within the day (Althea was very surprised to receive the package two days later). The potions were specifically tailored for Althea and tasted dreadful. Sirius was unaware of Althea's intention to proceed with the treatments, and seemed to have happily resigned himself with Prudence and Harry. Eventually, she would need to tell him, but she had three and a half months to prepare.

Prudence's girlish, bark-like laughter echoed throughout the entrance hall. Remus—laughing—as he sang terribly off key a song of his design, twirled a giggling Afina across the black and white marble tile.

"I reckon he's found the rum early," Sirius remarked and shook his head, laughing, as Remus sang about the werewolf's inherent rhythm.

As Althea descended from the last step, she caught Prudence's eye. Prudence gasped, and Althea warmly smiled at her daughter. Remus and Afina quickly parted—Remus pleasantly smiling at the new arrivals. Afina stepped forward, and—eyes narrowed—examined Althea. She clicked her teeth and tugged upon Althea's bodice.

"Perfect," she said and smiled appreciatively at Althea.

Althea raised an eyebrow. "This is all very—"

"I want to go," Prudence whispered, her eyes betrayed her longing as she gazed upon Althea. "It will be lovely."

Althea lifted her daughter's chin and kissed her temple. "I'll delight you with stories in the morning," she said, but Prudence still pouted.

"Who could resist a night with Celestina Warbeck?" Remus asked and winked at Sirius. "Cheer up, my Prudence."

Prudence wrinkled her nose.

Remus, with mock innocence, rose and fell on the balls of his feet. She very much liked the robes Afina had designed for him. _As if you'll keep them so tidy_, she thought, stepping before him. _You'll destroy them on your next field study_.

He closed one eye, as he looked her up and down. "I must be an asthmatic werewolf for not catching you that night."

Althea's eyes drifted to the orange paper crown jauntily perched upon Remus's head. "I like yours better," she said and flicked the crown.

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><p>The dulled song of the Weird Sisters and the throng of incoherent murmuring filled the entrance hall. Althea quickly walked the entrance, her heels echoed across the floor. At the Great Hall's entrance, she inhaled deeply; her hands clutched its handles. Briefly, she paused, her eyes drawn to her arms, to the tattoos hidden by complex Concealment Charms. <em>The Ministry will be here and Moody could've given you up ages ago<em>, she thought and with all her strength, forced open the doors. Althea gasped—she couldn't help but gasp—at the transformation of the Great Hall. It was more beautiful than any Winter Fête. She inhaled deeply the delicious smell of the evergreen. The high walls were covered in sparkling silver frost. She bit her lip to suppress her giggle at the garlands of mistletoe and ivy; she thought of incorporating a sprig of mistletoe in her hair, but thought better of it—she would hate to be mimicked—she couldn't bear a professor handing out a detention on such a night. She stepped forward—turning all around in the mass of dancing students—her face lifted up toward the black night sky littered with millions of twinkling planets and stars. She sighed wistfully at what should have been, knowing that neither Sirius nor Remus could not attend without disaster.

Her stomach sank when Professor Vector ordered two of her seventh year students to part. _It's futile_, she thought, as McGonagall—in tartan dress robes—danced with Flitwick. She eagerly bit her lip and prayed she would see Sinistra swoop by with a very displeased Snape—Althea promised Sinistra a bottle of 1961 _Château Lafite Rothschild_upon completion of the dare. Instead, Sinistra—in fine silk robes of indigo—jumped to avoid her dance partner's wooden leg. Althea arched her eyebrow—she had never known Moody to dance.

Althea further slipped between dancing students, walking deeper into the Great Hall. She passed Harry, who looked rather uncomfortable in dress robes (it must've been a Potter trait), and his friend Ron (she blinked at the ghastly outdated dress robes—she remembered Eddie Vane wearing something similar in 1978). Sirius and Althea had planned for Harry to spend Christmas at Northfield. It was to be a great surprise, and Sirius became obsessed with such a reunion, but the events of October—once again—changed their plans. It was still not clear who had slipped Harry Potter's name in the goblet and Moody's investigation into the matter had unearthed no leads. Of course, the favorite rumor of the faculty, Sirius Black was the culprit that placed Harry's name in the goblet (at which Moody let out an uncharacteristic laugh and Althea's cup of tea slipped). She let out a bark of laughter and quickly covered her mouth at the sight of Madame Maxime and Hagrid dancing. _Only you and Snape are the only two not dancing_, she thought and shivered, sticking out her tongue. Snape had paled—his expression as if about to vomit—when Dumbledore happily, but forcefully suggested all Hogwarts faculty to chaperone. She bit her lip at the memory of Snape sputtering excuses, and knew that—currently—he was in the gardens blasting apart the rosebushes (for she knew he hated such liaisons of young love and merriment).

She felt a presence at her right side. It was Dumbledore.

"Happy Christmas," she said, her eyes focused upon a slow-dancing couple.

"And to you," he said. "I remember you enjoying dances such as this."

Althea let a small smile escape as the girl rested her head upon the young boy's shoulder. "I still do," she sighed, turning her face up at the Headmaster, "but unfortunately, my dancing partner could not attend."

Dumbledore faintly raised his eyebrows. "And how is he?"

"He is doing well, and—I dare say it—far away from here," she answered and smiled knowingly. "Enjoying Christmas with his daughter."

"Alas," he sighed and looked out at the dancing crowd before them, "you both were never much for discretion."

"Indeed," she said, "but I can assure you, he won't crash through the windows of the Great Hall on his motorbike just to dance with me."

"Pity," he murmured and stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Ah, Karkaroff!"

Althea's stomach somersaulted. _Don't you dare_—

"Karkaroff!" Dumbledore called again.

Karkaroff abruptly stopped and turned toward the pair. He grinned, taking large strides toward them. Despite his smile, she noticed his deadened eyes nervously darting from side to side. _ I feel similarly_, she thought and inhaled deeply to calm herself in the presence of the revolting man before her.

Dumbledore rested his hand upon Karkaroff's shoulder. "Igor," he began, "I hope you are enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, I—"

"Good," he interrupted and held out his hand for Althea to come forward.

Althea refused to move.

"But I haven't seen you dance, Igor," Dumbledore continued and Karkaroff muttered excuses. "You _must_ enjoy yourself on a night like this. It can't be all business."

Althea cringed as Igor Karkaroff's eyes looked upon her. He smiled slightly.

"No," he murmured.

Althea groaned quietly.

"Even your champion—"

"Would you care to dance?" Karkaroff asked.

_I'd rather slit your throat_.

Dumbledore let out a chuckle. "Magical cooperation and goodwill!" he said, slapping Karkaroff upon the back. "Excellent idea!"

The two men waited for Althea's reply.

Althea cast a dark glance at Dumbledore and swallowed. She gave a slight nod. Karkaroff smiled, offering her his hand.

"Right," she breathed, taking his hand.

At least it was a waltz. She felt some relief that the song was not something embarrassingly slow and romantic. Still, to be so close to Karkaroff—a Death Eater who weaseled his way out of Azkaban and rumored to instruct students in the Dark Arts—was nauseating. As the pair quickly turned upon the dance floor, she imagined Sirius at the periphery—his glare murderous—ready upon the song's end to chide her:

_"He's the enemy, Althea!"_

_ "I had no choice—"_

_ "He wants to kill Harry!"_

_ "It was Dumbledore's idea—"_

_ "Oh, Dumbledore! How bloody fantastic—"_

"I don't even know your name," Karkaroff laughed.

"Althea," she offered and noticed Sinistra wink at her.

"Althea," he murmured—a small crease appeared between his eyebrows as if his memory was jolted open. He faintly shook his head. "Lovely…and you are lovely."

Ten years prior, she would have taken such words as invitation to further seduce the former Death Eater and, once alone, slice open his throat. However, in the spirit of magical cooperation, murdering the headmaster of Durmstrang would reflect poorly upon Hogwarts.

"And, Althea," he asked, pulling her close as they turned once more, "what do you teach?"

Without blinking, Althea answered, "Muggle Studies."

Karkaroff raised an eyebrow.

"The song isn't over," she said, grasping his hand tighter. "I'm not going to let you wash your hands yet."

Karkaroff laughed lightly, nervously. "You have my character all wrong."

"Do I?"

Karkaroff nodded. "A great many things have been said about me, but most are embellishments and hearsay," he said and leaned forward, his breath warmed her ear. "I am a very understanding man."

"You belong in Azkaban," she whispered and let go of him.

Karkaroff's arms fell to his sides. Althea turned upon her heel and left him open-mouthed upon the dance floor. The throng of dancers closed between them, separating them. Althea left the Great Hall for the courtyard. She shivered upon entering—she could still feel that foul man's hands upon her. _Magical cooperation, indeed_, she thought and sighed. She shook her head and forced herself to think of pleasant things. She heard the tinkling and splashing of the fountain on the other side of the rosebushes. The rosebushes, with their lush and fragrant red blooms were her idea. She insisted upon them at the faculty meeting. It almost looked as it once did for the Winter Fête, or what she imagined it to look—she and Sirius never saw it. She rested her fingertips upon the smooth petal and she closed her eyes. In her mind's eye, Sirius's young, handsome face illuminated by candlelight came into focus. Her heart quickened at the memory—at his nervous, eager smile. He was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen—the most beautiful man, really. She rested herself against the velvet blooms and inhaled their fragrance. They were children, but they didn't feel it—didn't act it.

"Morrigan."

Althea frowned and opened her eyes. She lifted herself from the rosebushes to face Snape, who bore the sourest of expressions. His dress robes were black and were identical to his school robes. _Of course_, she thought as Snape sneered as he eyed her.

Althea smiled. "Come to dance?"

Snape did not respond.

"Come, Snape," she said, holding up her hands. She loosely placed them upon Snape's thin frame—she swallowed at the feeling of how odd he felt. "Let us dance."

Snape did not move.

"It's Christmas," she said, coaxing him to move forward, "let us have some fun."

Snape refused to move. "Don't embarrass us all."

Althea sighed, letting her hands fall. "Are you allergic to fun?"

"Patrol the garden, will you?"

Althea pulled a face.

"It is your hour, Morrigan," he said and narrowed his eyes over her shoulder. He pointed his wand and blasted apart the rosebush—two seventh years quickly rushed forward. "Detention, Wellesley and Reed!"

"Was that necessary?" she remarked as Snape to hear. "They're of age."

"Not all uphold such liberal sensibilities," he said, pulling the cuffs of his sleeves. "Hogwarts has definite rules—"

"Grasping for the Snitch," she reminded, her hands clawing at the air.

He quickly turned and walked away.

"Happy Christmas, Snivellus," she muttered and stuck out her tongue at him.

_Such a disagreeable man_, she thought and growled quietly. She folded her arms and kicked at the small pebble. _The Potions Mistress for Beauxbatons is delusional_. She rounded the corner, continuing to mimic in poor French the Potions Mistress's flirtations with Snape. She gagged at the thought of Snape in a passionate affair with the very attractive woman in his potions stores—the jostling of jars, the sloshing of pickled Erkling. She heard shuffling and giggling on the other side of the rosebush. She smiled and cast a Silencing Charm.

"Snape won't bother you now," she whispered and inhaled deeply with pride at her complicity.

Althea entered the clearing with the dusting of snow, and smiled at the fairies that littered the evergreens. The music of the Great Hall could faintly be heard. It was perfect. She imagined Sirius and she dancing at the edge of the marble fountain in the center of the clearing. He making up words to the muffled music, and she giggling as he tickled her side as they danced. The snap of a twig behind her jolted her from her thoughts. She turned quickly to face her intruder. She smiled warmly at Mad-Eye.

"Enjoying yourself, Althea?" he asked.

Althea nodded as she walked toward him. "I do enjoy this sort of thing."

"Of course," he murmured—his gruff demeanor seemed softened by the night's events. "I didn't see you dancing, though."

Althea shrugged. "All the eligible partners were taken."

Moody smiled and nodded. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas."

Althea turned to walk, but stopped when Moody spoke, "It is a lovely night."

"It is."

"Winifred loved Christmas."

Althea licked her lips. Moody was lonely, and she could not deny that the feelings one suppressed the rest of the year would not bubble up on a day that mattered most. She saw the outcome of her evening—in Moody's office, sharing a bottle of Firewhiskey between them.

"Would you like to talk?"

Moody shook his head. "No, no, dear," he said, looking toward the ground. "Be careful."

"I will," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. "Although, I reckon nothing Dark lurks in these rosebushes."

The corner of Moody's mouth upturned into a smile. "No, I suppose not," he said, "but don't get too complacent. It's not safe to be alone."

"I won't," she said and fought a sigh at Moody's nature, "thank you."

Althea let out the sigh as Moody was a good distance away. _It's just his nature_, she thought as she slowly spun—taking in one last time the beauty of the clearing. Althea continued down the path lined with rosebushes—it seemed to almost be a maze—how large was this garden? She shivered, rubbing her upper arms—it was too early in the evening for the charms to fail. She kicked the snow from her shoe and noticed large paw prints before her. Her eyes widened.

"No," she breathed and saw that the paw prints continued for some length.

She smiled and, lifting her dress, hurried to follow the paw prints. The paw prints seemed to have backtracked for whatever animal it was had reached the point of the small clearing and decided to retreat. Her heart beat quickly at the outlandish thought that it was Sirius. It would have been so foolish, but absolutely the most romantic thing to do.

"My foolish imagination," she whispered, following the tracks. "It's probably Fang."

Althea continued forward to the darkest section of the garden, but the paw prints had stopped. She slowly smiled as the paw prints were replaced with human footsteps. _He's such an idiot_, she thought, her eyes lifted from the footprints to the very pleasing male form before her. Sirius oblivious to her arrival, smoothed his hair in his reflection upon the reflecting pool. She felt a devious excitement bubble in her chest at what would transpire between them. He was handsomely dressed in very fine black robes—possibly the finest of anyone in attendance. He stood with a casual, but haughty air of elegance that betrayed his birthright. The moonlight seemed to fade the years of Azkaban.

Sirius looked up, realizing he was no longer alone. He smiled when he saw her.

"Stephen," she murmured.

Sirius grinned. "Moody and that damn eye of his," he said, slipping his arms around her waist. "Happy Christmas, lovely," he murmured and kissed her lips.

Althea pulled away, resting her hands upon his chest. "This is completely stupid."

Sirius shrugged. "I wouldn't miss the Yule Ball," he explained and pulled her close. "Not when I could escort the most beautiful woman in all of Hogwarts."

"McGonagall's gone to bed."

"Damn, I reckon you'll do," he said and winked.

Althea furrowed her eyebrows. "You're not really—"

Sirius clasped her hand and placed her other hand upon his shoulder. "Why not?" he asked as they danced. "I'm in disguise."

"But the Ministry—"

"Couldn't catch me if I turned myself in to the Auror Office—"

Althea frowned. "Be reasonable," she said as he twirled her quickly. "Moody—"

"Could have sent you back to Azkaban loads of times, but hasn't," he explained and stopped. He perched his thumb and forefinger upon her chin. "No one will know," he whispered and kissed her once more. "Come on, lovely."

Althea internally groaned at the malleable feeling Sirius's coaxing evoked in her. He grinned, clasping her hand, and pulled her forward toward the Great Hall. Despite her misgivings and the ominous feelings of Sirius's presence, she succumbed to his will—which seemed so easy to do—and Althea and Sirius would spend the night in the presence of the Ministry and powerful members of the international magical community. Sirius sighed happily as the two entered the Great Hall. Sirius stopped, pulling her close to him—his eyes surveying all before him.

"You are, by far, the most beautiful," he whispered to her as they walked past the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

He was delighted to be back at Hogwarts, and Althea could not deny Hogwarts was the happiest time for her Sirius. _No responsibility, no pain, no betrayal_, she thought as Sirius kissed her hand. Her eyes met Dumbledore over Sirius's shoulder. She seemed emboldened by their deceit.

"Shall we?" she asked and winked.

The recklessness was intoxicating. The stares and whispered inquiries of the Muggle Studies professor's partner did not go unnoticed by the pair. It fed them and encouraged their insolent behavior. Each held the other all the more closely, which did not go unnoticed by McGonagall who whispered to Althea about her unbecoming behavior. In response, Sirius hoisted Althea into the air and the two spun, giggling, sweeping past a group of Ministry members. The couple forgot the children, Snape, Moody, Dumbledore, and the Ministry as they danced. Sirius seemed to take particular pleasure as they spun past the Head of the Auror Office. Soon, it was midnight, and Althea felt overwhelming disappointment as the Weird Sisters played the last song of the set.

"My quarters?" she whispered.

Sirius flashed a crooked smile. "Not yet," he said, his fingertips gliding up and down her spine. He leaned close; his moist breath warmed her ear as he whispered, "Flitwick decorated the garden with fairies."

Althea slowly smiled and Sirius took her hand.

As the crowd dispersed from the Great Hall, Althea quietly followed Sirius out into the courtyard—weaving themselves between the throng of sweaty, energized students and slightly exhausted faculty. Alone, in the fairy lit garden, Sirius pulled her closely to him. She closed her eyes, resting her head upon his shoulder, as Sirius softly sang. There would be questions when she returned to Hogwarts. Dumbledore would call her to his office. Snape would—no doubt—conclude who would cause such a euphoric sensual display in Althea. The student body would teem with gossip about the usually unassuming Muggle Studies professor. None of it mattered at that moment. She inhaled deeply the smell of his skin, the smell of his soap. Her fingers intertwined in the locks of his hair.

"I'd use that memory to conjure my Patronus," he whispered, stroking her back.

"What memory?"

"Our first night together."

Althea giggled deeply.

"I don't think it silly."

Althea pulled away from him. "It isn't," she said and shivered. She vigorously rubbed her arms. "Those charms didn't last long."

Sirius looked around, unaffected by the cold.

Althea's trembling increased. "Let's go back."

"Not yet," he said, taking her hand.

Despite Althea's protests, Sirius continued to lead Althea through the garden maze. She didn't remember such a maze before or how tall the rosebushes truly were—at least two feet above their heads. The snow and cold swirled around them—large snowflakes darted before her eyes, obscuring the path. The snow seemed to rise—each step becoming more difficult for Althea for she raised each knee higher and higher to take a step—she clung to Sirius for balance.

"Sirius, I can't feel my toes," she complained and pulled upon his hand. "I want to go."

"Just a little farther," he encouraged as the hedges of thick pine seemed to grow higher and higher, obscuring the moonlight.

_Just a little farther_, she thought, her skin burning from the cold, wet snow. The fairies were gone and just the darkness remained_. Just a little farther_….

* * *

><p>With great difficulty, Althea opened her eyes—her vision out of focus in the dim light. She groaned at the throbbing of her temple. She attempted to raise her hand to her head, but that required too much effort.<p>

"Thanks, mate," Sirius whispered.

"I never thought I'd be happy that you were foolish enough to go to Hogwarts tonight," Remus whispered. "Who knows how long she would've been out there."

Out there? Althea blinked rapidly—her vision slowly accommodating to the new surroundings. She fully opened her eyes to the concerned faces of Sirius and Remus peering down at her. The two men were silent—the quiet broken by the _pop _and _snap_ of the deliciously soothing fire. She was upon the floor, wrapped in some ten blankets, before the large fireplace in her Northfield apartment. Her eyes focused upon the flickering shadows cast by the firelight upon the engraved bees and roses of the cream-colored chimneypiece. _How did I—how did I get here_? The two men anxiously looked at her for a sign of her wellbeing. She smiled weakly at the men.

"Thank God that you're all right," Sirius said and kissed her forehead.

"What—what happened?" she asked and swallowed, shocked at the hoarseness of her voice. "We were—"

"Don't worry," Remus said, tucking a blanket under her chin. "You're safe."

Althea wrinkled her brow. "Safe?" she asked, looking from Remus to Sirius. "What—I don't—"

Sirius looked reluctant to answer. "I found you in the snow," he said, stroking her hair. "You could've—" Instead, he kissed her forehead once more.

"The snow?" she repeated. "I was in the rose garden."

Sirius shook his head. "You were in a snowdrift beneath the Whomping Willow."

Althea's eyes widened. "The Whomping Willow?"

Sirius nodded. "You were covered in snow."

"How'd you—"

Sirius shrugged. "Luck," he answered—his expression soured as if his thought had caused him great pain, "I almost chose the entrance from Honeydukes."

Althea shifted to sit up and gasped, realizing she was no longer in her evening gown. She clutched her neck—her necklace was gone—and she whimpered when she felt her head. Sirius held up the necklace—the diamonds and aquamarines sparkling and twinkling in the firelight.

Althea sighed. "Where are my clothes?" she asked, pulling the collar of the flannel pajamas tighter around her neck. Did she own flannel pajamas?

"Your dress was soaked through," Sirius explained, placing the necklace next to him. "We had to take it off—"

"We?"

Sirius laughed. "As if we haven't seen you naked."

"Some more recently than others," Remus added.

Althea groaned at the men, bringing her hand to her face. "Where is Gran?"

"Asleep," Sirius answered. "Afina and Prudence are unaware, as well."

"Good," she said, fully sitting up. "What happened?"

"We were to ask you," Remus said, handing Althea a cup of tea.

Althea shrugged and took a sip. "I have no idea," she said, resting the cup on her knee. "The last I remember I was in the rose garden."

"Was anyone with you?" Remus asked.

Althea took another sip of tea. What had been real and what had been a dream? She took a moment to sort out her memory, but it seemed futile. The two men could spot something peculiar in her retelling, couldn't they?

She nodded. "I'd talked with Snape, but he left…a couple snogging," she said and frowned. "Moody…." She chuckled softly. "He danced with Sinistra tonight."

Sirius frowned—uncharacteristically chewing his bottom lip. "Anything odd?"

"Anything Moody says is odd," she murmured and took another sip of tea. "Be careful," she said in a poor mimic of Moody, "you never know what lurks in the hedgerows."

Sirius and Remus shared a look.

"Right, out with it."

Sirius clamped his mouth shut.

"We think you were stunned," Remus spoke and Sirius cast him a dark look.

"Stunned?" she questioned, placing the cup of tea next to her. "Who would want to stun me?"

Both men sighed.

"Oh, this is bloody fantastic, isn't it? Stun me and leave me out in the cold and snow—the Whomping Willow no less!" she said and winced when she rubbed her temple. "Who'd want me dead?"

Sirius paled.

Remus shook his head. "We don't know…there are so many variables."

"It might not have been meant for me," she said, resting her hands behind her. "It could've been some witch that didn't want to go as far as her boyfriend wanted."

"It was far more advanced than teenage magic—"

"Like teenage Animagi?" she countered, raising her eyebrow at Remus.

"You were found beneath the Whomping Willow, _not_ in the rose garden, Althea," Remus replied.

"You think it meant for me?" she asked, looking from Remus to Sirius.

Sirius's hand massaged the side of his face. Althea noticed he was dressed in very fine dress robes—more handsome than the ones she dreamt about.

"Out with it, Black."

"I can't help but think it all related," he said, not looking at either Althea or Remus. "The attack on Moody…this…the Quidditch World Cup—"

"The Death Eaters?" she breathed.

Sirius nodded. "There's increased activity among them—"

"And how would you know?" she asked pointedly.

Sirius disregarded her question. "It was meant to scare," he said and licked his lips. "You won't be the only professor attacked…this Triwizard Tournament was an awful idea."

Remus nodded. "We've already alerted Dumbledore—"

"And what will that do?"

"He's investigating it at least," Remus answered, "with Moody's assistance."

Althea rested her chin upon her folded arms on her knees. "That is supposed to make me feel better?" she remarked. "I'm left in the bloody snow and we'll have a committee?" Althea quickly sat up. "Karkaroff," she breathed.

"Karkaroff?" the men said in unison.

She cringed as she looked upon Sirius. Despite the advanced Silencing Charms and the vast rooms of Northfield, she believed Sirius would wake the others at what she was about to disclose.

Althea closed her eyes. "In the spirit of magical cooperation, I was forced to dance with Karkaroff—"

The lamp upon the side table exploded. Althea jumped.

"It was Dumbledore's idea."

Sirius's expression was cold.

"I couldn't very well refuse him, could I?" she explained, ignoring Remus's begging look. "It wasn't that simple. The Ministry—"

"You were attacked with all the Ministry there, my love," Sirius said, his nostrils flared. "Karkaroff is a hateful—he and Dolohov thought it fun to attack Muggle schoolgirls!"

Althea sighed. "Maybe I should've slit his throat."

Remus's knees popped as he stood. "I think it best Althea gets some rest," he said, offering his hands for Althea. "Don't you, agree Padfoot?"

Sirius shrugged. "I reckon I'll sit by the fire."

Althea stumbled as she took her first steps. She shook her head and laughed lightly at her weakness. "I'm all right," she said, gently pushing Remus's hands from her. "Really, I am."

Remus gave her a wary look.

"_Goodnight_, Remus," she said, her fingertips reaching for objects to steady herself as she reached her bedroom door.

Despite her protests, Remus followed Althea to her bedroom. She sighed heavily as she collapsed upon the bed—the thick duvet fluffed up around her. Remus stood at the foot of the four-poster bed, and—with arms folded—pensively studied Althea.

"Be straight with me," she said and licked her dry lips. "What happened?"

Remus shrugged, stepping forward. "I don't know," he whispered. "Sirius found you at the foot of the Whomping Willow…no tracks…you were unconscious."

Althea brought her hand to her forehead and massaged it with the heel of her palm. "I'm useless," she murmured and Remus cast a sympathetic look. "I remember nothing…except the cold." She furrowed her brow. "How could I have been stunned? The garden was empty except for a couple or two—" Althea let out a quiet, frustrated growl. "Look after Sirius, will you?"

Remus shook his head, letting out a small, quiet laugh. "That is for you," he said, placing his hand upon her back. "We have to trust Moody will discover something," he explained, stroking her back. "It could be the most insignificant—"

"And if he doesn't?" she asked, but Remus smiled in a manner that reminded her of her father when he would tell her unpleasant news. "Do you believe Sirius?"

Remus seemed to mull his answer. "His instinct can be very accurate—"

Althea laughed through her nose.

"This was a very bold act," he continued, his hand dropped behind her as he thought. "It could very well be connected…the attack at the World Cup…tonight—the Ministry prominent at both events." He sighed and sniffed, running his fingers through his hair. He looked up and chuckled quietly. "Nothing has changed."

Althea looked up—her lips quivered into a smile at Sirius's festive gesture. "And I'm glad for it," she said, her eyes focused on the bundle of mistletoe.

"Happy Christmas," he said and pinched her nose.

Remus went to stand, and soon Althea was alone. Her eyes looked about the dimly lit bedroom—along the high walls covered in delicate cornflower blue wallpaper, to the still landscapes in humble frames, to the opened closet door and the pile of Sirius's clothes in its doorway. She reached for her wand, but realized it was not at her side.

Sirius stood in the doorway, obscuring the light.

"Must I remind you that we don't have a house-elf," she teased and nodded toward the pile of robes.

Sirius shrugged, slipping his hands in his robe pockets. "I'd have given it a pair of socks, anyway."

Althea admired Afina's tailoring as Sirius walked toward her. "You would've been discovered tonight."

"I'd take that chance," he said as he sat next to her. Althea rested her head against his thin shoulder. "I'd take that chance a thousand times," he murmured, pulling her close him.

* * *

><p>Althea woke to Sirius's arm tightening around her waist.<p>

"You haven't slept, have you?" she whispered.

Sirius did not answer.

Althea turned to face him. Sirius, quiet, only stared at Althea. Discovering her, unconscious, beneath the Whomping Willow had shaken him.

Althea brought her hand to his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured and Sirius remained quiet. "I'm all right…you found me."

Sirius placed his hand over hers. "What if I hadn't?"

"Don't think like that."

"How can I not?" he whispered, stroking her cheek. "I can't imagine losing you…just after getting you back," he said and Althea thought she saw his eyes were wet. "I'm traveling north…where I was, just wasn't good enough—"

"I'm at Northfield at the weekend—"

"I need to be as close as I can to Hogwarts," he explained, smoothing a curl behind her ear.

"Where will you go?"

Sirius shrugged.

"I'll find a place," she offered and forced a small smile. "A place in Hogsmeade. We could spend all our time together—"

"No…I need to go undetected."

"Shrieking Shack?"

"I could be discovered…and I have Buckbeak."

Althea wrinkled her nose. "He enjoys the stables."

"I can't leave him."

"Right," she sighed.

Sirius cupped the side of her face with his hand. "I'll find a place," he whispered, "I promise you. I will be there—at any sign of danger."

"Thank you."

Sirius rested his forehead against hers. "I can't lose you," he murmured. "I love you."

Althea's lips upturned into a smile. "I love you, too."

Althea enjoyed the fervor at which he kissed her…as if he would never be able to kiss her again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Thank you for all the reviews and comments for the last chapter. I very much enjoyed reading them all. Interesting ideas/predictions were brought up and we'll see where it leads…

Please feel free to leave your comments and reviews.


	3. The Second Task, February 1995

**Morning of the Second Task, February 1995**

A thin white wisp of moist air rose before her lips. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose at the cold—she knew her nose was pink. _Why can't the task take place indoors_, she thought and pulled the thick woven blanket tighter about her. If her fellow faculty thought a water task in late February was ridiculous, they did not voice their concern; no, a few raised their eyebrows when Althea snorted with disbelief at such a task. Althea lifted her Omnioculars and looked at the black water below—no sign of any Champion yet and only fifteen minutes in the challenge remained. Through the hum created by the murmuring of the crowd, she heard the Hufflepuff chant for Diggory. Not to be outdone, the Gryffindors chanted for Harry. She groaned quietly at the ripple in the black water. He looked very much the little boy as he stood shivering in the shallow pool of water. She wanted to rush forward, throw her warm blanket about his trembling shoulders, and take him from the water…until she spotted the wad of gillyweed in his hand.

Althea let the Omnioculars slowly fall from her face. Sirius was right—with each increasingly difficult task, the chance to harm Harry became easier. Sitting at the uppermost bench, away from the crowds, she allowed herself to lean back. She had spent breakfast mulling over Sirius's latest letter—quite possibly, the scribbles and thick lines crossing out entire sentences—the conspiracy theories of a madman. Cryptic letters since January and with no word of his whereabouts, the four-page letter came as a surprise that morning. Crouch at Hogwarts? The man absent from the Triwizard Tournament, the Yule Ball, and the Ministry, was found to be lurking in Snape's office? Althea wrinkled her forehead—so strange. The entire events surrounding the Triwizard Tournament were strange. _As if I could strike up a conversation with Snape_, she thought, _I can't think of a good enough excuse to mention Crouch_. Despite the occasions when Snape would seek her out to relate her shortcomings, the two rarely spoke unless they were forced to—it would be suspicious to ask questions about man who has seemed to disappear and whose whereabouts were shrouded in hearsay. Snape was an exceptional Potions Master…when he did not decide to place sugar in the Wolfsbane. It was quite known that he had supplemented his teaching salary with obscure and difficult potions. Whatever ailed Crouch it was done with discretion and, despite what the_ Prophet _implied, Bartemius Crouch was not in St. Mungo's. _I'm not about to survey St. Mungo's_, she thought as five minutes in the challenge remained. Althea had not returned to St. Mungo's since the Healers-in-Charge threw her curriculum vitae in the dustbin before her. Sirius's insistence that she do so was preposterous.

"Five minutes," she murmured and felt a heavy paw upon her thigh.

She smiled at the figure cuddled next to her. She dug her fingers into his thick, black fur and vigorously scratched behind his ears—Sirius appreciatively wagged his tail against her.

"Are you sure you won't join me in a post-challenge celebration?" she whispered as Sirius closed his eyes. "A warm bath…I reckon the house-elves could scrounge up something in the kitchens—"

Sirius yawned, opening his mouth wide.

She leaned close as to whisper in his ear, "A soft bed with a very eager Muggle Studies professor—"

She giggled lowly at the perk of Sirius's ear. Suddenly, her giggling stopped—she felt a wave of uneasiness, as if someone was watching her.

Indeed, when she looked to her left, Moody's eye was focused on her. She shifted uncomfortably. Since the events of the Yule Ball, when Sirius discovered Althea unconscious beneath the Whomping Willow, Moody's interest in Althea had become oppressive, as no conclusive evidence had come to light. She had fended off his suggestion of weekly searches of her office and quarters, and expressed her quiet relief in Dumbledore's insistence of its excessiveness. She thought of the last conversation she and Moody had in her office the week prior. She had offered him tea, but he refused, insisting to drink from his flask. The conversation seemed casual until Moody said, '_What I hate more than anything is that Death Eater that got away, don't you? The one that lied and paid their way out of Azkaban_?' Althea was sure, in that moment, not only was he speaking of Sirius Black, but also of her secret—of what he had known for years. Althea hastily deflected by mentioning Karkaroff at which Moody readily obliged, in a heated monologue, Karkaroff's dastardly attributes and the necessity of Azkaban for such a traitor.

At the _clang_ of the bell, the challenge was over. The crowd had quieted. No Champion had surfaced within the allotted time. Suddenly, with a great splash, the first of the Champions surfaced, and the crowd immediately leapt to its feet. It was Cedric Diggory. Althea applauded with the rest, but the knot in her stomach tightened with each Champion surfacing. _Where are you, Harry_, she wondered, as the cheering did not cease. Sirius was upon his hind legs, his paws on the bench before them—he was very still—Althea felt a growing lump in her throat. _If anything happened to him_, she thought, wringing her hands before her, _Sirius wouldn't recover…I am sure of it_. With a shock of black hair surfacing, the crowd erupted and Althea sighed, falling back to the bench. Harry, surrounded by merpeople, swam toward the judges' table.

"He's all right," she murmured, resting herself against Sirius.

Sirius barked and frantically wagged his tail.

Upon Ludo Bagman's announcement of points, with great effort, Althea restrained the jubilant Sirius from leaping from bench to bench to congratulate Harry, who was tied for first place. As he wiggled against her, to the raised eyebrows of those students around her, she quietly promised him a celebratory party in her office. He would have that clandestine chance to congratulate Harry in person.

"We'll all be sick on Butterbeer!" she said and sighed happily, turning the knob to her office door.

Althea entered her office with Sirius at her heels. She unlatched the silver clasp of her cloak and hung the cloak of rich violet fabric behind her door. She arched her back, feeling the vertebrae pop in sequence, and tossed the thick blanket upon the leather sofa next to the large windows. A warm, comforting laziness enveloped one in Althea's office. She yawned, and inhaled deeply the strong scent of orange jasmine. Sirius trotted toward the fire, circled a particular spot for some time, and then stretched as he eased himself to the floor. Althea knelt next to him, smiling at the warmth of the glowing fire, and scratched the top of his head.

"Predictable," she murmured and kissed his snout.

It was decided—well, Althea decided—to tease Harry a bit. In twenty minutes, she would call on Harry to join her in her office. Upon Harry's arrival, Althea would play the fool at the dog's true identity until Sirius determined the moment to transform. _He'll know about me_, she thought, her heart quickened in pace at the thought of Harry discovering that she was more than just the Muggle Studies professor. She would try not to hug him too tightly or to cry too excessively. She stood, her eyes glanced at the charmed landscape above the mantel painted by her mother, and walked toward her desk—passing the Muggle artifacts (masks, paintings, and carvings) that hung upon the grey stone walls. She wrinkled her nose at her desk for it was littered with scrolls of student essays, which obscured the picture frames—one silver and one black—of charmed photographs that shimmered from vacation photographs of landscapes to Sirius and Althea in Bermuda and the couple proudly standing with Prudence in her Hogwarts uniform. _What will I say to you_, she thought as her eyes scanned the bookcase behind her desk; its shelves filled with books, more Muggle artifacts, and photographs of her parents. For four years Althea had opportunity, but she was too cowardly to take it. Now the boy, oblivious to her presence unless Hermione greeted her (did he even remember her name?), would join them in her office. Her stomach somersaulted. She silently cursed the brilliant green potions, but knew this episode was not a side effect. _He loves Sirius…he respects Remus…all those years gone_, she thought and faintly wrinkled her nose at the film of dust upon a few of the books. _What will he think of me_?

She furrowed her brow—in an attempt to remember where she last placed the photograph of Lily and she—and noticed one of the drawers to her desk ajar…one of the _locked_ drawers. Althea's heart sank for she did not remember casting the charm to unlock it that day. Had an intruder entered her office while she attended the second task?

She licked her dry lips. "Padfoot," she said, slipping her hand into her wand pocket. She grasped the smooth handle of the cedar wood.

Sirius lifted his head.

She nodded for him at her side.

Sirius did not hesitate.

Once at her side, Althea silently cast a Revealing Charm. An almost imperceptible current spread throughout the room. This current rippled over her desk, the pile of books next to her desk, the sofa and flowerpots, and to the large windows. Out of her periphery, Sirius glowed red, but as her eyes intently scanned her office, she noticed something very small—almost a speck—glowing on the middle pane of the second window. Without hesitation, Althea cast a Stunning Spell and let out a cackle of triumph as the spell landed with a _thud_ and the speck fell to the windowsill. Althea collected the fat beetle in her white handkerchief and felt Sirius transform at her side.

"An Animagus?" he breathed, peering closely at the beetle.

"A bug," Althea said and smiled wryly. She turned her head toward Sirius and frowned. His complexion gaunt, his black hair long and matted, and wearing his Azkaban robes, Sirius stood at her side. "Oh God, my love," she murmured and swallowed.

"Never mind, I want to know who this is," he said, pointing to the beetle. "This could be the person responsible for everything."

Althea nodded. "Right," she said and placed the handkerchief upon the floor. "Shall we?"

The two pointed their wands toward the beetle, and soon, the beetle began to elongate and twist, taking the shape of a woman in garish green robes. Althea gasped and Sirius quietly swore. She knew of this woman quite well for she had been at Althea's trial, taking notes with her acid-green quill. The sensational and inflammatory article that came forth made Bellatrix Lestrange appear charitable to Muggles when compared to Kelly Derry, the pseudonym under which Althea had killed. Sirius knelt next to Rita Skeeter and plucked the notepad that jutted out from her crocodile-skin purse. He opened it—his eyes wide—as Althea knelt next to him. He whistled at its contents.

"I reckon she had a séance to interview my dearly dead mother," he said and flipped the page. "'He was born to one of the most powerful and influential Wizarding families with Galleons at his disposal, and looks that could charm the knickers off any Hogwarts schoolgirl—'"

Althea groaned.

"What's this? Passionate love-making atop my motorbike as it flew over Chelsea?" he said and pulled a face. "Not on my motorbike!"

"She's written about you, then?"

"And you," he said and tossed her the spiral notepad. "She forgot about riding naked on the backs of Centaurs."

Althea took the notepad in her hands. Her scarlet painted nails dug into the paper with each word. In vivid detail, Skeeter described Althea's erotic dalliance with 'the werewolf,' as she described the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: steamy broom cupboard encounters where they would emerge with clothing askew, locked classroom doors as the children waited outside for classes to start, and an act so salacious on the sofa in the staffroom it would shock decent Wizarding society.

"Transfigure her back, "Althea said through gritted teeth. "I want to squash her under my heel."

"That would be murder, lovely," he said, his lips quivering into a small smile as he kissed her cheek, "and we can't do that."

Althea growled.

"It's all lies, anyway," he said, slapping his hand against the notepad. "If I had my trousers around my ankles as much as she has claimed, it's a wonder I ever did anything for Voldemort."

Althea frowned. "But—"

"D'you think we'd let her publish this?" he asked, holding up the notepad.

"Of course, not—"

"I'll tear it to pieces," he said, flipping quickly through the pages. "Might even curse it." He slowly grinned. "Come on, lovely," he murmured with a mischievous lilt, "lets have a bit of fun."

"Fun?"

Sirius roughly kissed her cheek, "Fun," he whispered and winked. "Revive her and give her a real story."

"Oh, Sirius, I don't think—"

Sirius sighed with exaggeration. "I promise I'll behave—"

"Likely—"

"She writes awful rubbish about my godson!" he said, thrusting his hand toward the unconscious Skeeter. "Two of us, one of her—get on with it!"

"You do realize she works for the _Prophet_—"

"No one will miss her!" Sirius shrugged off Althea's admonishing gasp. "D'you want all of Hogwarts to read how you shagged the All-England side from the 1982 Quidditch World Cup?"

Althea seized the notepad from Sirius, and flipped through its pages. "Oh, that is—" she began, her eyes becoming slits, "I'll give her a story."

Once Sirius transformed, Althea pointed her wand at Skeeter and muttered a Reviving Spell. Skeeter jerked awake—slamming her palms upon the rug. She blinked wildly and shook her head to collect herself. She slowly lifted herself, but was stopped by the tip of Althea's wand. Skeeter's shoulders slumped—she recognized that she had been caught. Her mind seemed to be working quickly, but Althea would not give her that luxury of an excuse.

"Have enough for _Witch Weekly_?" she asked, thrusting her wand underneath Skeeter's chin.

Rita, lifting her chin, smiled. "Oh, your story is for the _Sunday Torch_."

"Likely," she sneered and held up the notepad for Skeeter to see.

Skeeter gasped and made a move for the notepad, but Althea retracted her arm. Sirius leapt forward, baring his teeth.

"Lurking about my office—"

"Who doesn't love a story of a poor, little rich girl?"

"LIES!" Althea shouted within inches of Skeeter's face.

Skeeter winced.

"Do I frighten you?" she asked. "I reckon you're skilled at defensive spells with the truth you pervert—"

"You'd know all about perversion," she countered, looking over her jeweled spectacles.

Althea inhaled deeply through her nostrils. "Yes, let's read some of it, shall we?" she said and lifted the notepad. "'Voted _Best Bottom_ and _Best Legs_ by the boys of her class, this Hogwarts sexpot—' Sexpot?" she read and raised an eyebrow. "How…_dated_."

Skeeter became thin-lipped.

"'—this Hogwarts sexpot seduced boys, from some the finest Wizarding families, with her promiscuous attire and her wanton, eager attitude,'" she read and looked up from the notepad. "A bit long-winded, don't you think?"

Skeeter's demeanor grew more uncomfortable.

"The _News of the World_ put it succinctly when it called me just a, 'Posh, Sad, Slag,'" she remarked and sighed, lifting the notepad to read once more. "Oh, _this _is good! 'Now Dumbledore has sought to corrupt more Wizarding youths by his appointment of Professor Morrigan to Muggle Studies. What could one expect from her class? Loud Muggle music—or screeching and moaning, more like it—filled with suggestive lyrics, obscene artwork, and readings that would scandalize any descent magical parent—'" Althea laughed sardonically as she flipped the page.

Skeeter sighed through her nose.

"Pansy Parkinson doesn't sit for my class…you'll have to do better than that, love." Althea slowly smiled at a name she recognized. "That vindictive cow," she breathed and clicked her teeth. "'The elegant and delightful benefactor of Beauxbatons, Madame Jane Mallory, spoke of her childhood acquaintance's penchant for miniskirts at scandalous lengths, which readily exposed her knickers…especially for one Sirius Black.'"

Skeeter smiled, exposing her three gold teeth. "I know all about you," she said, sitting up as Althea lowered her wand. "You're the one the Ministry interviewed."

Althea was quiet.

She narrowed her eyes—smug in her revelation. "Did you maintain his innocence as fervently for all these years?" she asked, her eyes looking for something to betray Althea. "Did you help him escape?"

"No—"

Skeeter leaned closer. "Did you help him enter Hogwarts?"

"No—"

Skeeter licked her red lips. "What was that reunion like?"

Althea growled and rushed forward, knocking Rita to the rug below. Althea, straddling Skeeter, held her wand pointed between that woman's eyes and her other hand clenched that woman's throat.

"I killed him," she said, in a voice so cold—so reminiscent of Derry—for a moment, it unnerved her. "Are you to blackmail me? Blackmail me with such lies?"

A slow, knowing smirk developed upon Skeeter's lips. "Lies?" she mouthed and Althea felt her reaching for her purse.

Althea shouted a Disarming Spell, but Skeeter did not reach for her wand. Instead, she produced a folded piece of jagged parchment. Althea's heart sank into her abdomen at her name scrawled in black ink. She removed herself from Skeeter and slumped to the floor.

"Very much alive," she said, opening Sirius's letter. She fanned herself as she read. "'The sweat on our skin…my pulse quickens at the thought of you…the taste of you—'"

"_Stop_," she insisted, her neck flush with warmth.

"All those things he wants to do you to," she said, looking over the letter once more. "No polite wizard would dare utter such things."

"How'd you get this?" she asked and quickly snatched the letter.

Skeeter shrugged. "You blush any time his name is mentioned," she explained, pulling upon her robe sleeves. "I took a chance."

"Breaking into my office? I'll see you're sent to Azkaban," she said, folding the letter.

"You first, dear."

"You're an illegal Animagus—"

Skeeter let out a laugh of spite.

"Do you know what happens to illegal Animagi?" she asked, slipping the letter in her robe pocket. "I heard it's painful. I'd have no problem alerting the Ministry to your oversight."

Skeeter's eyes widened and she cocked her head to the side. "You don't deny your relationship with a murderer?"

Althea gently bit her bottom lip, her expression full of mock thoughtfulness. "Who would the Ministry believe? A boring Hogwarts schoolteacher, or some bitch that's been a thorn in the Ministry's side for years?"

"The Ministry won't touch me," she said with a confidence that did not falter. "And you don't deny your relationship with Black?" she continued and raised an eyebrow. "Such a bold stance. A convicted murderer—"

"He never had a trial."

Skeeter furrowed her penciled eyebrows. "You're mistaken—"

Althea shook her head. "I'm not, and I would know, wouldn't I?" she said, sensing Sirius's impatience next to her. "Do you remember attending his trial?"

Skeeter screwed up her eyes in thought. "No—"

"You've read his letters…you know his innocence," she said, leaning forward. "Why would the second in command to Voldemort—"

Skeeter yelped.

"—shag the current Muggle Studies professor, the daughter of Daniel Morrigan—the Twelfth Earl Northfield? You've read the file, haven't you?"

Skeeter nodded.

"You know of the Muggle elopement…of what his family did to us—"

Skeeter remained silent.

"Ask yourself, where was the Dark Mark?"

Skeeter arched a penciled eyebrow.

"You have to remember…after every attack," she began as Sirius shifted beside her. "Sirius didn't cast it because he _didn't know how_."

Skeeter shrewdly looked at the pair.

"Imagine it, you exposing one of the greatest tragedies of the last war," she said to the skeptical woman. "You could win awards with that."

Skeeter pursed her red lips and shook her head. "I have what I need—"

Suddenly, Skeeter stopped speaking. Her mouth agape in fear, her body seemed to seize upon itself. Before she could let out a shriek, with a flick of Sirius's wand, Skeeter toppled to the floor. Her nose upturned against the rug, her glasses askew, Skeeter rested in an awkward position upon the floor.

Sirius tossed the matted hair from his face. "I've had enough."

He grabbed the notepad from Althea and flipped through its pages. He muttered under his breath epithets directed at Skeeter's character—flipping the pages at a faster pace with each slur. Clutching a handful of pages, he grunted as he tore them from the notepad. He rose from the floor and, in one swift movement, stood before the fire. He paused, the papers clenched in his fist.

"That she would publish such lies!" he said, and tightly shut his eyes, bringing his fist to his forehead. "You're a mum, you're a fantastic teacher—I've used the Floo to spy on a class or two—"

Althea placed her hand upon his back and swallowed to overcome her apprehension at the scratchy prison robes.

"To hell with her," he spat and cast the pages into the fire.

The yellow and orange flames licked the pages and curled them, consuming them, until only ashes remained. Althea slipped her hand into Sirius's and squeezed it. Sirius returned the affectionate gesture.

"She is an awful woman."

"The worst," he said quietly. Sirius rested his hands upon her shoulders—his gaunt features accentuated by the firelight. "Look after her, will you?"

Althea frowned. "Where are you going?"

Sirius smiled. "I'll return shortly," he said and kissed her forehead.

Althea wrinkled her nose at the smell of earth, sweat, and hippogriff.

"Let's just modify—"

"This is connected to the Floo Network, too, right?"

Althea's sigh gave him his answer.

"Brilliant," he said and kissed her cheek.

Sirius grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and threw it into the fire. The flames shimmered to brilliant emerald green. Sirius ducked as to step into the fireplace.

"Sirius," she began, stepping forward, "it isn't—"

"I'll be safe," he assured, swatting her hand away. He stood to his full height and rocked back and forth upon his feet. "Absolutely filthy," he sniffed, "but it'll do." He let out a little chuckle. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

Althea groaned, covering her face with her hand. Grimmauld Place? _This will be disastrous_, she thought and began to pace. In quiet, she paced beside the unconscious body of that loathsome reporter; the clock clicked the seconds that passed, and then the minutes. With the passing time, Sirius's continued absence increased her anxiousness. To overcome it, she opened Skeeter's purse and searched its contents. Underneath the handkerchief, lipsticks, silver compact, quills, and peppermints, Althea spotted a purple folder. Under the Ministry seal, in gold lettering, was her name. Althea's stomach leapt with dread. It wasn't very thick, but she knew that folder held more than the investigation surrounding the events of early November 1981. Althea opened the folder to the center:

_Despite the offer of one hundred Galleons, Morrigan demanded more. She let it be known to Mrs. Orion Black, "If you want me gone, triple it." The plaintiff, clearly upset in retelling the encounter, refused…_

Althea let out a guttural noise of disgust and slammed the folder shut. _I have the fleetingly wild idea of sneaking Sirius into Gringotts as to shag him on a giant mound of Galleons in the Black family vault_, she thought, tapping the folder against her chin. She sighed, looking to her feet. Sirius was impressive at Stunning Spells. Althea tossed the folder onto her desk and promptly transfigured it to an innocuous book on ferns.

It was half past the hour when Sirius returned, entering her office in a flash of emerald green. His grin mischievous, he strode to meet her.

"Didn't give you any trouble?"

"No," she said as Sirius kissed her cheek. "What kept you?"

"I couldn't remember where I left this," he said, producing a small photograph.

Althea took the photograph and laughed with surprise. It was a photograph taken at the Winter Fête almost twenty years ago. Jane, beaming—and her devotion bordering on obsession—clung tightly to Sirius. Sirius, his eyes avoiding the camera, only half-smiled.

"You look pathetic," she laughed.

The young Sirius lifted his face, his eyes looking above the camera, and truly smiled.

"At that moment," he began, placing his thin hand upon her cheek, "I saw you."

"Come of it—"

"I won't let her embarrass you," he said, lifting her face. "Prudence could read that, and she doesn't need to read lies about her mum."

"But lies about her father?"

"Everything said about me are lies."

"But we could—"

Sirius shook his head. "Let's give her something to write about," he encouraged and kissed her cheek.

Sirius stooped to pick up the notepad and the acid-green quill. He stepped over Skeeter and threw himself upon the sofa. He sighed and shifted as to make himself comfortable, and once so, cracked his knuckles in exaggerated fashion.

"Now," he said as the acid-green quill stood to attention, "where to start?"

Althea sat behind her desk. _This will end in embarrassment for Snape, I just know it_, she thought and rubbed her stomach. Snape would corner in the staffroom, or in a corridor, or as she taught class, to berate her and to accuse her of complicity with Rita Skeeter. She would be brought before Dumbledore who would once again encourage faculty unity and Phineas Nigellus wouldn't hesitate to unleash a barb at her character.

Sirius's expression turned devilish. "I know," he began with a sly grin, "the true villain of this saga—"

"Isn't teasing Snape a bit old?"

Sirius's head jerked back. "Snape? Why would I waste precious ink on such a boring wanker?" he asked, smoothing the notepad page. "No, Peter Pettigrew!"

Sirius began to tell the life of Peter Pettigrew, the recipient of the Order of Merlin, who at first thought such an award was a cool Wizarding band. As Sirius spoke of Pettigrew's fear of cats, Althea wondered if Pettigrew would ever read the article. Wherever that rat was—whatever sewer or gutter—she hoped he would overhear wizards talk of him. Unable to suppress his curiosity at the attention, he would scurry to scrounge up the _Prophet_ from a rubbish bin. Would he deduce that Sirius masterminded such an article? Pettigrew was—after all—cleverer than they all realized.

"Upon his arrival at Hogwarts, his mother insisted on charmed bed sheets and requested them until his third-year—"

"Oh, Sirius," she murmured, slowly swiveling in the large chair behind her desk.

"He would often weep after making love, and insist the girl cuddle him and call him, 'Dumpling—'"

It was cathartic. Once an idea exhausted, he would call on Althea for inspiration, but thinking it not scandalous enough, would improve upon it. When the collaboration on the sordid life of Peter Pettigrew had reached six pages, Sirius decided to add a small biography of Jane. Briefly, Althea thought it a poor idea, but the thought of Madame Mallory opening her _Witch Weekly_ to a photograph of her teenage self with a headline connecting her to Sirius was delicious revenge.

"But does the elegant and delightful benefactor of Beauxbatons hide a tragic secret?" Sirius continued, resting his hands behind his head. "Is this photograph proof of star-crossed love?"

Althea laughingly shook her head at the mention of 'Golden Couple.'

"Alas," he sighed, "it was not meant to be, for Sirius Black—with the blackest of hearts—did forsake love and followed the darkest of paths toward destruction." Sirius sat up and closed the notepad. "Done."

"What now?"

Sirius shrugged. "Put the kettle on."

* * *

><p>Althea swirled the milky tea with the small silver spoon. Her eyes drifted upward from the delicate porcelain teacup to Rita Skeeter slumped in the chair across from her. She inhaled deeply and nodded to Sirius. Sirius murmured a Reviving Spell and quickly transformed. Rita Skeeter gasped as she lifted her head. Althea forced a warm smile and took a sip of tea as Sirius trotted to Althea's side. Skeeter blinked wildly and shook her head. Althea prayed the Memory Charm cast was effective.<p>

"Would you like stronger tea?" Althea teased, placing the teacup and saucer upon the desk. "I know the study of the biological component of magic can be a bit boring—"

Skeeter wrinkled her brow. "Biological component of magic?" she murmured.

Althea leaned forward. "I hope you're not nodding off," she teased and winked.

"No, no," she muttered, taking the teacup in her hand. "Fascinating."

Althea grinned. "I'd like to thank you for taking such an interest in this topic," she said, resting her fingertips in the thick of Sirius's fur. "We'd love to have you at the symposium in April."

"I'll—I'll think about it," she said and took a sip.

Althea sat up and pretended to shuffle through the papers on her desk. "Maybe I should let you read Professor Kafka's paper, hmm?" she offered, pretending to look through her drawers. "It's awfully thick—fifty pages—but I'm sure it will offer you great insight—"

Skeeter quickly placed the teacup upon the desk. "Oh, that won't be necessary," she said and went to stand.

"Are you sure? I could—"

Skeeter's tight blonde curls barely bobbed as shook her head, hastily collecting her things. "I've all I need."

"Ah," she sighed and stood. She followed Skeeter to the door. "I look forward to reading your article in _Witch Weekly_," she said, placing her hand upon the doorknob to prevent Skeeter from leaving. "I'm very much the baker, you know—"

"Oh really, I wouldn't have guessed—" Skeeter's hand jerked for the door.

"All those recipes…I can't keep up," she said and laughed lightly. "But a busy woman like you, such a glamorous lifestyle, you—you must think it silly—"

"I have to interview Madame Mallory, if you'll excuse me—"

"Oh, yes, yes!" Althea said, lifting her hand from the doorknob. "Of course!"

Her lips twitched to suppress the rising giggle at the thought of Jane Mallory—flustered—flubbing through the interview. _I reckon if she was clever enough to think to cast a Memory Charm upon Skeeter, Jane would cast it on herself_, she thought as Skeeter reached for the door. _One last thing_…. Skeeter became stiff, facing the door, her eyes slowly turned toward the wand pointed at her temple. Althea smiled.

"And if I ever catch you lurking about my classroom or office again, I will not hesitate in reporting you to the Ministry," she said and tapped Skeeter's temple with the tip of her wand. "I'm sure a few officials would love to know you're an unregistered Animagus."

Skeeter's eyes narrowed. "You're too boring for blackmail," she said and opened the door. "Good day, Professor."

Althea leaned against the closed door and giggled lowly. Sirius stood before her, grinning. It had worked.

"Too boring for blackmail," he mouthed and slipped his thin arms around her waist.

Althea resisted him, keeping him at arms length. "You smell of Azkaban and hippogriff," she said as Sirius's jovial expression faltered. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean—"

"Right," he sighed, letting go of her. He stroked a lock of dirty, matted black hair behind his ear. He looked ashamed, conscious of his appearance.

"My quarters?" she offered and forced herself to touch his sleeve. The feel of the fabric—rough, perpetually damp wool—caused her to gag. "I'll draw you a bath—"

Sirius shook his head. "I reckon I should go," he said, his eyes avoiding her. "Moody could be lurking, and that damn eye of his—"

"When did you last have a warm meal?"

"I should go," he said, placing his hands upon her shoulders. He jerked his head forward, but thought better of it. "I'll write you, I promise."

Althea nodded hollowly.

"I love you," he murmured, his hands slipping from her shoulders.

"I love you, too," she replied and grasped his hands. "Thank you."

"Always," he said, his eyes did not waver from her as he brought her hand to his lips.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Thank you for all the reviews and comments for the last chapter.

Please feel free to leave your comments and reviews.


	4. Hogwarts, Late May 1995

**Hogwarts, Late May 1995**

"Well done, Victoria," Althea said and clapped her hands. The other students followed suit. "I'd never thought to compare Madonna's, 'Bedtime Story,' to the Weird Sisters', 'Strange Brews.'"

Victoria—with a trembling, pleased smile—returned to her seat. Her friends immediately congratulated the Hufflepuff fifth-year girl with the thick, curly red hair.

"I reckon pop culture is universal, isn't it?" Althea remarked, looking out over her small class. "Music is very human…as well as art and literature. Our need to express ourselves, to communicate, is vital to magic and Muggle. When we think of common themes, it isn't difficult to relate, is it?"

The fifth-year students agreed.

Althea sighed happily. "Right, I believe we have one more? Nigel?"

The Ravenclaw boy with slicked back blonde hair stood and began his analysis of Nirvana's song, "In Bloom." _Bloody ambitious_, she thought, and remembered Sirius's perplexed expression over Christmas Holiday when he was introduced to Nirvana on the other side of Prudence's closed bedroom door. The frustration of twelve years past was very much palpable. Gone for solitary walks, found alone in remote rooms or the stables, Sirius sought increased isolation. _I reckon the summer was too much for him_, she thought as Nigel continued. Althea leaned back in her large chair. Her eyes drifted over the heads of her students to the Muggle paintings, to the posters of Muggle musicians, to the Muggle inventions that littered her glass cabinets, and to the large photograph of the space shuttle above fireplace mantel. One day she'd perfect the charm to keep the smudges of pressed noses and fingerprints from her glass cabinets, but those marks meant curiosity and the notion she might have been doing something not completely useless. The opened windows allowed for a small breeze that gently rustled the curtains. Her classroom was, by far, the sunniest of all Hogwarts classrooms, and it was a far too sunny day to remain in it.

Althea's fingers flicked the corner of a stack of papers upon her desk. The latest edition of _Witch Weekly_ rested upon the top of the stack. She smiled. She had confiscated the copy that morning, and how she will delight in reading it! Jane Mallory—her makeup impeccable, not a blonde hair astray, in finely tailored periwinkle robes of silk—sat upon an opulent sofa in a lavishly decorated sitting room. Above her smug smile, read the tantalizing headline:

**At Home with Madame Mallory: **

**A Heart-to-Heart of Lifestyle, Love, and Loss **

Althea quietly snickered at the headline. She hadn't thought their fib of Jane would be the cover story. It would be a small article adjacent to a recipe for apricot tart, but not a four-page article and glossy photo spread. _What have we done, Black_, she thought, as Jane—unaware—stroked the sofa so her hideous diamond ring would be visible. Nigel cleared his throat to alert Althea he had finished.

"Clever and interesting, Nigel," she said and Nigel looked very pleased. "Well done, all of you…and as your reward, class is adjourned."

The children blankly stared at Althea.

"I don't know about you," she said, leaning forward as the children murmured, "but I'd fancy a walk by the lake."

Their faces brightened.

"Indeed!" she laughed as a few cheered. "Enjoy the afternoon!"

The children hastily grabbed their inkbottles, parchment, and bags and—among the chatter, creaking chairs, and squeaking footsteps—rushed out of her classroom. Althea looked about her empty classroom and sighed…quiet. She muttered a Rearranging Charm and cringed at the chairs that squeaked and groaned into place. _Never gotten the hang of it quite like McGonagall_, she thought and aimed her wand at her classroom door. Once closed, she gave a furtive glance at her empty classroom and reached for the magazine. She rolled her eyes and made faces at the celebrity gossip, Dear Demeter ("Help! I've Transfigured My Husband's Golf Clubs!"), quizzes ("10 Questions to Ask Your Healer"), and love advice ("What He Really Wants…").

"A bloody blowjob," she muttered aloud and sighed. "It's never what _I_ want, is it? Bloody bollocks."

Althea turned the page and giggled lowly.

**A Conversation with Madame Mallory: **

**The glamorous Minister's wife shares of her triumphs and heartache **

_It is difficult to believe that Jane Mallory with all her charm and effortless grace is thirty-four. Her blue eyes sparkle as she laughingly tells me this, and I cannot help but laugh as well at her youthful disposition…._

"Bollocks," she breathed, her eyes scanning the article. Althea groaned at the detailed description of Jane's home.

_Indeed, her secretary, Lorraine, often interrupts our talk and Madame Mallory takes each interruption graciously. Such the busy life for the wife of the Minister of Law! New books for Beauxbatons, the charity ball for the Witches Guild, a reminder of little Jean-Pierre's Quidditch Match—_

"Bloody staged," she sneered, turning the page.

Althea let out a howl of laughter at the photograph. There, upon the glossy page, in the far right corner, the fifteen-year-old Sirius Black weakly smiled next to the beaming Jane. _Witch Weekly_ was the largest circulating witches' magazine, and thousands of witches would open their magazines that afternoon to discover Jane's embellished secret. She inhaled deeply—who would have thought the printed revenge would have been so satisfying? Althea closed her eyes and imagined Jane opening her copy of _Witch Weekly_. It would have taken place in Jane's office—lavishly decorated in eighteenth century toile and furniture—that overlooked the impeccably manicured gardens. Jane, dressed in fine periwinkle robes, tossed the long, blonde hair from her face—that gaudy diamond wedding band catching the sunlight…just as it did on the cover of _Witch Weekly_. She giggled and sighed at the pleasant words of Rita Skeeter, and congratulated herself on the idea to her include her secretary. She turned the page, expecting more sycophantic syrup, but instead was accosted by an embarrassing memory of her past. At the sight of the twenty-year-old photograph, Jane—shrieking—stood. Her life—her beautiful life—exposed upon one page. "Lies!" she would scream, the hand with the large diamond ring clutching her breast. Tristan, believing another of his wife's charms backfired, burst through the office doors only to witness upon one glossy page, his devoted wife's first obsessive love.

"Bloody brilliant," she sighed and opened her eyes.

_ But does the elegant and delightful benefactor of Beauxbatons hide a tragic secret? Despite her cordial smile, is there a flicker of sadness in her eye? Of memories, of a life that could have been so very different? Who are we at fifteen to know what is to come? Is this photograph proof of star-crossed love_…?

Althea eagerly read Sirius's untruths and mouthed the last sentence, "'Alas, it was not meant to be, for Sirius Black—with the blackest of hearts—did forsake love and followed the darkest of paths toward destruction.'"

Althea closed the magazine and held it to her chest. She slowly swiveled back and forth in her chair. Was it too much? The small seed of self-doubt crept into her belly as the chair creaked. Did Jane deserve such ridicule? Althea thought to the confrontation between the two women in Diagon Alley over the summer. Time had not softened the bitterness.

Out of her periphery, a flash of green light caught her attention. She turned her chair toward the fireplace at the far end of her classroom, which now glowed orange with a very familiar and welcomed face. Althea's heart leapt at the sight of Sirius. She quickly stood and strode to greet him, her heels echoing upon the stone floor. It had been months since she saw him last. After the encounter with Skeeter, the two thought it best to keep their rendezvous at a minimum. She knelt before him and smiled. Sirius did not smile—his expression grave—his face harboring more of the gaunt features of Azkaban.

Her smile faltered. "My love," she whispered, lifting her hand into the fire. She felt the dizzying jolt of the Floo and then the rough stubble of Sirius's cheek. "What is the matter?"

Sirius took the hand from his face and kissed it. "I've missed you—"

"Where are you?" she asked, leaning forward into the fire. She frowned for she could not make out his surroundings.

Sirius let go of her hand. "I haven't much time—"

"You've broken into a house, haven't you?" she accused, furrowing her brow. "The Floo is monitored—"

"You didn't care before," he said shortly and sighed. "I'm sorry—I—"

Althea licked her lips. "Are you in trouble?"

He shook his head. "No, no, but Harry—"

"I saw him at breakfast," Althea said and shifted off her knees onto the cool stone floor.

Sirius seemed very anxious to talk about him. "How'd he look? Okay?"

Althea nodded. "Hungry, mostly."

Sirius sighed, slightly leaning away from the fire. "Thank God," he murmured. "I'll be able to breathe again once this is over."

"It's about the Triwizard Tournament, isn't it?" she asked and gently bit her bottom lip.

Sirius nodded.

"It's been quiet, my love," she explained, tracing the mortared crevices between the stone with her forefinger.

Sirius let out a small, knowing laugh. "Not the night before," he said and Althea looked up. "You don't know?"

Althea frowned, shaking her head. "Know what?" she asked and Sirius's eyes widened somewhat as he prepared himself. "If it's about the maze—"

Sirius leaned forward, his eyes looked slowly about her classroom before he spoke, "I received a letter from Harry."

He reached into the pocket of his robes and produced a letter. He thrust his thin hand through the fire and held the folded letter for Althea. Althea took the letter and opened it. In the young boy's scribbled hand, he wrote to Sirius of the incident near the forest after the discovery of the Third Task. Barty Crouch, the man absent from the tournament, the Ministry, St. Mungo's, was seen babbling incoherently by Harry Potter and Viktor Krum?

"Crouch?" she whispered, looking over the letter again. "Was Harry sure?"

"Why would you doubt Harry?" Sirius asked sharply. "Crouch was there to speak to Dumbledore," he continued, pointing at the letter. "He was intercepted, I'm sure of it." He growled and massaged his cheek with his palm. "Harry could've been killed that night," he said, looking ahead of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but licked his lips instead.

"And what am I to do?" she asked, craning her neck forward. "Give Harry detentions for the rest of the year as to prevent him from enjoying the outdoors?"

Sirius shrugged. "It's a start."

"Be reasonable," she sighed.

Sirius's look turned dark, his sinister expression accentuated by the firelight. "He is my godson—"

"And what of your daughter?" she asked and Sirius clamped his mouth shut. "When have you written to her last?"

"Tuesday."

"Do not lie to me," she said, shifting upon the floor. "You haven't written to her in ages. You never responded to her last letter in March. Did you enjoy your birthday gift as well?"

Sirius looked uncomfortable.

"Every afternoon she visits my office, asking for word of you," she explained and Sirius refused to look at her. "Finally, Remus—_Remus_—had to write her that you're okay."

"What would have me do?" he asked, his voice louder. "Write her weekly? Daily? Arouse suspicion—I can only steal so much ink and paper!"

Althea tightly shut her eyes and massaged her temple. "I can rent a room—"

Sirius inhaled deeply. "I have a duty as godfather, Althea, to look after Harry," he said with forced calm. "He requires me to write to him for he has _no one but me_. His scar hurts him—yes, that bloody scar Voldemort gave him—do you have any idea what that means? Now, Krum lured him—"

"Viktor Krum, junior Death Eater—"

"KARKAROFF SHOWED SNAPE THE DARK MARK UPON HIS ARM!" Sirius bellowed, which left the room with ringing silence.

Althea swallowed. "The Dark Mark?"

Sirius nodded and tossed the hair from his face. "It's darkened in the last months," he said, his eyes—grey and lifeless—focused upon her. "Do you understand what that means?"

Althea brought her knees to her chest. She didn't want to think about it. For over thirteen years, the magical world lived in a mild, dysfunctional peace. The Dark Mark faded from the skin of deceptive Death Eaters, who carried on, living as neighbors with those they sought to destroy. She had endeavored to forget how it began—the strange behavior of Ministry officials, the half-truths in the paper, the disappearances—but the events were strikingly similar.

Her eyes, losing their focus, quietly asked, "What are we to do?"

"Remus and I…we thought of searching for Pettigrew—"

Althea lifted her face.

"It's a start," he said and shrugged, avoiding her eyes once more. "If we find him, he might lead us to—"

"Voldemort," she finished and closed her eyes as she thrust her hand in the fire.

She felt Sirius's hands upon hers. She briefly entertained the thought of not letting go, of losing herself in the Floo, to be with Sirius. Would she search for Pettigrew? _He wouldn't have the opportunity to lead us to Voldemort if I tagged along_, she thought as Sirius still held her hand. Sirius took the letter in his hands and let go.

"I can't lose you," she whispered.

"Althea—"

Suddenly, loud knocking alerted Althea to someone at her classroom door. She jumped slightly and, panicked, shooed Sirius from the fire.

"I'll write you," he whispered as Althea frantically waved her hands for him to leave. "Whatever you may think, I love you and Prudence—"

"Right, just—just go," she said, looking toward the door as the person knocked with greater persistence. "_Please_!"

With a _pop,_ Sirius was gone.

"Hang on, hang on," she said, smoothing her dress as she walked toward her door.

The knocking grew impatient.

"I hear you…hang on!" Althea reached the door and took one last look at the empty fireplace. "Right," she sighed, tapping her wand against the doorknob to hear the distinctive _click_. "Sorry about that—"Althea sneered.

Severus Snape, with a sneer that equaled her own, stood in her doorway.

_Bugger all_, she thought and sighed, resting her hand upon the doorframe as not to let him enter.

"The Headmaster has called a meeting," he said and peered over her shoulders into her classroom.

"Looking for someone?" she asked and looked over her shoulder. "I'd nodded off…that's all." She forced a pleasant smile. "Sirius isn't in the corner fumbling with his trousers—"

Snape made a noise of disgust.

"I do have some respect for these halls of magic," she said, her smile twisting into a smirk. "By the way, how is Bertille?"

Snape's lips thinned.

"Come now, Snape," she said, folding her arms, "you have spent _years_ inquiring into my love life, and I can't ask—"

"She's _well_," he said through gritted teeth. "The meeting will be at three o'clock in the staffroom," he continued and took a step back. "Be _prompt_ this time, Morrigan."

"Of course," she murmured.

As Snape turned to leave, Althea grasped his left arm. The muscles of Snape's forearm twitched and tensed underneath her fingers. His black eyes became slits. Without letting go, she slid her fingertips beneath his sleeve and gently lifted it, exposing the pale flesh beneath. Her stomach twisted upon itself as the sleeve rose higher upon his arm—the thick black lines burned into flesh becoming visible. No Concealment Charm could hide the Dark Mark. She roughly flung his arm away from her.

"It's true," she whispered, placing her hand upon her stomach. "Voldemort—"

Snape awkwardly grasped his forearm and turned on his heel, his black robes billowing behind him. Althea remained in the doorway, staring at the spot where Snape had been.

* * *

><p>Althea absently stroked the sleeve covering her left forearm. Over England, those Death Eaters that have allowed theirs to fade must have noticed the subtle darkening of the Dark Mark over the months. When had they first noticed it? Sitting at the kitchen table and having a coffee as he read the <em>Daily Prophet<em>? In Madam Malkin's shop as she hemmed a sleeve? Snape sat with his left arm close to him at the chair opposite hers. When had Snape noticed it? Snape, aware of the attention, quickly pulled his sleeve further down upon his hand. Althea quickly diverted her eyes to Dumbledore as he spoke of the connection in the disappearances of Bertha Jorkins and Bartemius Crouch.

For years, it had been her suspicion that Snape had joined the Death Eaters, but to confirm it—to touch it—was unnerving. She raised an eyebrow at Snape. How involved was he? Did he torture Muggle schoolchildren? Did he murder pregnant witches? She tightly shut her eyes to banish the images of St. Mungo's from her mind—of the burned, mangled bodies and those begging for their deaths. Had Snape witnessed that destruction? Had it moved him? Now Snape taught at Hogwarts, and to some of the students that he and his fellow Death Eaters sought to murder. Did he feel sympathy for Neville Longbottom, for Harry Potter, or for Susan Bones? If he did, he kept such sympathies to himself.

Dumbledore adjourned the meeting, and as Althea went to stand, Dumbledore spoke, "Ah, Althea and Severus, I would like to speak with you."

Althea sighed and returned to her chair. Snape nodded, refusing to acknowledge Althea.

Once the others left, Dumbledore spoke, "I gather you both have noticed the signs."

Snape nodded.

Althea crossed her legs and shrugged.

"Sirius has spoken at length of this to you, I'm sure," Dumbledore said, "as he has spoken with me."

Althea looked up. "When?"

"I believe with the amount of time he's had—"

Snape let out a derisive noise.

"—his grasp of the events is strikingly accurate."

"Don't bloody encourage him," she muttered, folding her arms. "You believe the person who placed Harry's name in the goblet will strike during the last task?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I am sure of it."

Althea unfolded her arms, slamming them against the overstuffed arms of the chair. "Then cancel the bloody thing!" she said and looked from Dumbledore to Snape. "Wouldn't you agree? Remove the threat! There are children—"

Snape's jaw tightened. "He would strike regardless, Morrigan."

"He?" she said, sitting forward. "Why not she? You know something don't you!" she accused, pointing her forefinger at Snape. "I don't trust him," she said, turning toward Dumbledore. "The Dark Mark—"

"I am aware," Dumbledore said, with a slight, perceptible raise in his voice. "Severus has shown me—"

"Why, then?" she asked, gesturing violently toward Snape. "Why do you trust him?"

Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles. "Why do I trust you?" he replied, and Althea growled. "A person does have the ability to change and to repent, do they not, Althea?"

Althea—tight lipped—inhaled deeply.

Dumbledore sat forward; his long fingers clutched the armrests. "Now," he began, "it is time to overcome childhood grudges—"

"A childhood grudge? Is that what you believe?" she asked. "I have spent almost a decade at Hogwarts in my position, and Snape has sought _me_ out, Headmaster. To belittle me—so malicious and viper-tongued—"

"I didn't raise a butter knife to your throat—"

"I saw first hand his work at St. Mungos! He was Voldemort's Potions Master, and you allow him to instruct the children in Potions—"

"I trust Severus—"

Althea let out a scream of frustration. "He was a Death Eater! A murderer!"

"And you weren't?" Dumbledore replied.

Rage licked at Althea's insides, and she leapt to her feet. "I am not a Death Eater!"

Dumbledore massaged the bridge of his crooked nose. "I would never consider it—"

"Your Wizengamot let the bastards who tortured me go free," she said through gritted teeth. "Might I put that memory in your Pensieve so you can analyze that, too?" she asked, narrowing her gaze at Dumbledore—she didn't dare look away. "Can't stomach torture?"

There was mild exasperation in his voice as Dumbledore said, "You are on the same side."

Althea let out a laugh of spite and flumped to the chair. "As long as it's useful for him."

"Morrigan," Dumbledore warned, "listen and try to do so without judgment."

Althea folded her arms. "Right," she sighed, "why do you trust him, then?"

Dumbledore looked to Snape. "Severus?"

Snape's lips had thinned and were pale. He gave a wary look to Dumbledore. Dumbledore nodded for him to speak. Still, Snape was hesitant to speak, and the three sat in uncomfortable silence only broken by the ticking clock and odd creak of the chair. _What must you say to me_, she wondered, for Snape seemed to ruminate upon his disclosure.

"Get on with it," she sighed.

Snape diverted his gaze, transfixed upon his folded hands. "I warned Dumbledore of Voldemort's intention to kill the Potters."

The feeling of ice water washed over her insides. "You?" she asked in disbelief.

She remembered that October day when wet and smelling of motor oil and cold wind, Sirius—who hadn't given word to her of his safety for days—returned to the cottage. The fear and uncertainty were palpable in his voice when he told her of Voldemort's interest in the Potters. It was not uncommon that Voldemort would order a family for destruction—mostly high profile Ministry types, but James and Lily? They were so young and seemed insignificant. Sirius and Althea were to go into hiding themselves…the final agreement in the Secret Keeper plan she would only later learn.

Snape nodded, as did Dumbledore.

"It is true," Dumbledore said, and Althea felt herself further sink in her chair. "Snape came to me and disclosed Voldemort's interest in the Potters—"

"I don't—I don't believe this," she murmured, her arms limp at her sides. "You would help James?"

Snape hesitated before giving a slight nod.

Althea arched her eyebrow. "Did Lily know?"

Snape shook his head. "I didn't want her to know."

Althea covered her face with her hands. Was she to feel sympathy toward Snape for this one act, despite his previous history? Snape, a man who sought to belittle her and did not demonstrate a dram of kindness toward her?

"Bloody hell," she groaned, roughly rubbing her forehead. "What am I to do?"

"See each other as you truly are," Dumbledore said.

Althea lowered her hands. "Why tell me this? Why wait all this time?" she asked. "Lily was my best friend…I loved her. I was her Midwife—_yes_, Snape—why wouldn't you tell me?"

"Would you have believed me?"

Althea did not answer. _I still would've come after you with that butter knife_, she thought, shifting upon the chair.

"Severus, I believe it is time—"

Snape's skin became a sickly white. Althea noticed a faint pleading upon Snape's face. Dumbledore dismissed it, just as he would dismiss her. It was oddly comforting to witness someone else receiving such a look. Dumbledore gave an encouraging nod to Snape.

Snape looked as though he were about to vomit when he admitted, "I wrote the letter—"

Althea sat to attention—the muscles of her torso tensed, her breathing became shallow, and her heart visibly beat against her bodice. The letter? Althea knew of one letter meant for Bellatrix that was intercepted by Arcturus. The odious letter, which detailed Prudence's survival, led the remaining fractured and desperate Black family to seek to protect Prudence by forcibly abducting her from Althea.

"For Bellatrix?" she forced herself to ask through her tightened throat.

Snape shook his head. "For Mrs. Black—"

Althea's fingernails dug into the chair's armrests. Her eyes widened—it was Snape? Snape had disclosed Prudence's survival in the letter to Mrs. Black?

"I wanted her to believe the letter was meant for Bellatrix…for her to recognize the urgency—"

_How_, she wondered as Snape went quiet. _How did he know Prudence was alive? Why would he seek to take Prudence from me_? Althea's mind hastily thought to the small black box underneath the third stone from the far left window in her quarters. It was clear the letter writer did not know of the Secret Keeper switch, and Snape very much believed—almost to mania—Sirius to be the traitor (and used every opportunity to remind her). Still, when he learned the truth, he refused to shake the belief that Sirius _and Althea_ were the reason Lily was dead. He told her so. Althea understood such love and grief could manipulate a person to do such terrible things.

Althea began to shake. "How? How did you know she existed?"

Snape lowered his gaze to his thin hands. "The book—"

"YOU BASTARD!" she shouted, leaping from her chair.

Althea's nails grazed Snape's robes, but a large flash of light encompassed her. She cried with frustration as her limp body hurtled itself over her chair and onto the floor. She landed with a loud _thud!_ and gasped for air.

"LET ME KILL HIM!" she shouted, the tears falling freely from her eyes. Through her blurry vision, she saw the tip of Dumbledore's wand pointed at her. "Please," she begged as she could not move, "please."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No blood is to be spilt at Hogwarts."

"I hate you," she whispered, tightly closing her eyes. "I hate you."

Althea felt a jerk and was lifted from the floor. She floated toward where they had been seated, and felt herself come to rest comfortably in her chair. Althea opened her eyes. Snape was looking at the floor before him.

"How could you?" she forced herself to ask, wishing she could move her limbs. "Do you understand what you've done? Do you care? She's all I have—"

"She was to die—"

"Why would you care?" she asked pointedly. "She is the daughter of Sirius Black—my daughter! You've never—" Althea let out a scream of grief. "It was revenge! Lily was dead and I was alive! Alive because you thought Sirius was the Secret Keeper!"

Snape's nostrils faintly flared. She knew it the reason—no matter Dumbledore's excuse.

"That he traded my life—the life of his daughter—for Lily's!"

"Do not think so highly of yourself, Morrigan," Snape muttered.

Althea screamed once more, forcing her body to move, but it remained deathly still. The vase upon the side table shattered.

"Take what I love, then? Was that it?" she croaked, fighting off tears.

"Bellatrix did not differentiate between infant and adult, much like Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore explained. "Am I correct, Severus?"

Snape nodded. "It was better for the Blacks to remain pure than to exist," he said, and looked up at Althea. "I found the killing of children to be abhorrent."

"Likely," she sneered.

"Bellatrix often spoke highly of Mrs. Black—"

"And with one son in Azkaban, another dead, if Prudence was welcomed by Mrs. Black she would be safe?" she conjectured, and Snape looked somewhat surprised. "I knew Bellatrix wanted us dead and Sirius's family were desperate," she said and shut her eyes, "but that you'd think it right for them to take her…to _poison_ her with the same ideology—"

"I didn't believe Mrs. Black would take her—"

"What, then? Buy her gifts at Christmas? Invite us for Sunday lunch?"

Snape inhaled to speak, but hesitated. He finally uttered, "I am sorry."

Althea blinked. "I'll accept your apology when you ask for Sirius's forgiveness," she said and turned her head toward Dumbledore. "Let me go, will you?"

"You understand what Severus did for you?"

"And I am to trust him? Forgive him? Headmaster, I can't," she said and shook her head. Althea turned her full attention to Snape. "I was so frightened they would take her—you have no idea what Sirius and I went through."

Snape, silent, swallowed.

"I had nothing when I lost her," she said, and blinked, cursing her tears. "Her first word…her Hogwarts letter…her first trip to Diagon Alley to buy her Hogwarts things…and you—you taunted me, knowing who she was!"

"It was shameful, indeed—"

"Is that all you can say, Headmaster? That it was shameful?" she asked. "You are aware of his treatment of Harry…of his treatment of me?"

"Voldemort will show himself and we will need every ally," Dumbledore said and held out his hand. "I will accept…a truce."

A truce. It was Althea's wish to hex Severus Snape across the staffroom, out into the corridor, through the entrance, and upon the Hogwarts lawn. Then, she would summon Sirius to join her—she let out a dark laugh—and Gran.

"Bollocks," she sneered.

"You must quell the animosity between you," Dumbledore began, "we are entering uncertain times once more—"

"I've just learnt _he_ sought to take Prudence from me, and I haven't a right to be angry?" she questioned. "Or am I supposed to forgive all for the greater good?"

"A truce, Althea," he said, massaging the bridge of his crooked nose once more, "not absolution."

"When did you learn he sent the letter to Mrs. Black?"

Dumbledore frowned faintly. "While you were in Romania."

Althea threw her head back. "And Hogwarts is my consolation prize," she muttered and sighed loudly.

Althea lowered her head. She bit the inside of her cheek as she assessed Snape. He appeared…defeated. _You'll have your moment_, she thought as Dumbledore looked to his pocket watch. _Give Dumbledore what he wants now_.

"On one condition," she began and shrewdly narrowed her eyes, "we increase security within the maze and we warn all champions of the need for defensive spells."

Dumbledore slowly nodded, slipping the watch into his pocket. "Reasonable."

Althea felt the spell lifting. She wiggled her fingers and toes. Both men looked cautiously at Althea. She did not reach for her wand.

"Severus, your hand."

Snape warily thrust his hand forward.

"Althea, please."

Althea quietly groaned as she took Snape's hand in hers. The two quickly retracted their hands.

"We will work as one," Dumbledore said as the two professors stood. He turned his attention toward Althea. "The mountain overlooking Hogsmeade, You will find a fissure in the rocks near the peak."

* * *

><p>Althea yelped as she slipped upon the loose rock on the uneven path. She jerked her right hand up—the amber liquid sloshing in the bottle—and steadied herself upon the gravel with her left hand. She winced at the stinging sensation of the small, jagged pebbles in her palm. Her stockings torn, the heel of her left shoe broken and its remnants on the mountainside, Althea cursed Dumbledore as she stumbled up the winding mountain path. <em>A bloody mountain<em>, she thought and narrowed her eyes to see in the darkness. _I could've rented a bloody room, bought a bloody cottage, but no, Sirius chose Dumbledore's winning idea_. Althea stopped and arched her back—tired of her crouched position. _Bloody fantastic_. She uncorked the bottle and lifted the lip of the bottle to her lips. She relaxed as the warm liquid slid down her throat, its warmth dispersing itself as it coursed toward her stomach.

"Carry on," she sighed and corked the bottle.

The path toward the fissure seemed never-ending. The dirt-covered path narrowed and was littered with small and large stones. The ball of her foot stepped on one such stone and her ankle began to invert, but she still had the sense to correct herself before she fully twisted it. She righted herself and kicked the offending stone. _Bloody thing_, she thought. At the moment she wondered if she had passed the entrance, ten feet before her, the dim moonlight cast an odd shadow across the large boulder. She walked to the left of the boulder and felt a crevice large enough for a dog or a thin man to slip through. Althea pressed her back against the mountain and slipped through the crevice into darkness. The sound of scratching before her caused her to gasp at the same moment she heard the roar of a fire. She quickly turned and swayed, closing her eyes. Once steadying herself, she opened her eyes to Sirius, who bore a mixture of pleasure and shock. He was thinner than when they were last together in February—his hair longer and thickly matted—and his dingy, grey robes bore the distinct smell of the musty cave and sweat.

"I'm not here to hex you," she explained and took a sip of her family's rum. "I'm here to shag you."

Sirius stepped forward, placing his hands upon her shoulders. "How did you?"

"Dumbledore," she answered lowly with mock seriousness. She craned her neck to look around the cave. It was what one would expect from a cave with the addition of yellowed _Daily Prophets_ that littered the floor and a hippogriff at the far end of the cave. "Oh, I should courtesy to the hippogriff," she said and pulled herself from Sirius's embrace.

"Oh no, no," he said, quickly grasping her arms. "That can wait until you're sober."

"I'd rather not be," she said and wrinkled her nose. "God, you smell awful," she continued and pulled a face, "but after this bottle I won't care."

"My love—"

Althea shoved the bottle at his chest. "You'll need this for what I'm about to tell you."

* * *

><p>The throbbing, dull ache that encircled her scalp woke Althea from her sleep. Sirius and Althea had spent the night sharing the bottle of Althea's family rum and discussing Snape's deception. That it was Snape that betrayed Prudence to his family did not seem to surprise Sirius, and Althea was disappointed in his less than histrionic reaction. Sirius understood Snape's hatred of him was far-reaching, and he would not hesitate to hurt the most innocent. Still, a third of the bottle in, Sirius became philosophical, and stated that if Snape had not sent that letter, if his family had not sought forcibly to raise his daughter, Prudence and Althea might have met their fate at the end of Bellatrix's wand. In response, Althea blew a raspberry.<p>

Althea sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose—it smelt of a stable. She winced as she opened her eyes in the dimly lit cave. Buckebeak lay asleep in the farthest corner. She stretched and groaned at the uncomfortable hard bed of old _Daily Prophets_. She rolled over, pulling Sirius's robes that they shared tighter around her. _A bloody cave_, she thought, smoothing the unruly black curls from her face. _Not one of my finest moments_. Sirius rested beside her and, with one eye open, stared at the cave ceiling.

Althea shifted closer to Sirius. "We shagged in front of the hippogriff?"

Sirius nodded. "Yep."

Althea giggled lowly and Sirius joined her in laughter, tousling her hair. She lifted herself from the damp floor and intertwined her fingers with his, holding his hands above his head. Sirius grinned.

"A cave is no place for you to live," she teased.

Sirius shrugged. "I'm safe here."

Althea threw her head back and let go of Sirius's hands. He groaned and swore at the uncomfortable cave floor as he lifted himself to kiss her neck.

"It's damp…and uncomfortable…dark," she said between his kisses and pulled a face. "Like Azkaban."

"It's what we pretended last night," he murmured and laughed when Althea pulled away. "Oh, come on, lovely," he teased, sliding his hands around her waist, "I hate when you pout."

"Then promise me when the tournament is over, you'll spend the summer in Bermuda," she said, slipping her hands behind his neck.

"After Harry is safely with the Dursleys," he said, his fingertips stroking her waist, "and I've hexed Snape from Hogwarts to London for what he's done to you."

Althea smiled. "You'll really go?"

"Of course," he murmured, "a week or two with you and our Prudence…I wouldn't miss it."

Althea grinned. "And what of a cottage in Hogsmeade?"

Sirius sighed. "I don't know—"

"It doesn't have to be _in _the village," she explained, leaning closer. She swallowed at the musky odor of his skin. "Think of it…I would be home in the evenings…I'd join you by the fire…join you in our bed—"

"To kick me—"

Althea playfully frowned. "You could be close to Harry, and Prudence will be old enough for Hogsmeade weekends next year—"

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Christmas with Harry _and _Prudence, just as it should've been," she coaxed and smoothed a lock of matted hair behind his ear. "Prudence would not approve of you in a cave—"

Sirius sighed. "You've convinced me."

"What?" she asked and slowly smiled.

"You've convinced me," he repeated, leaning close. "We could be a family…I don't see why we couldn't provide some protection to the cottage," he said and raised both eyebrows. "Maybe have a Secret Keeper."

Althea threw her arms around Sirius and tightly held him to her. She murmured about their future life together as Sirius laughed and stroked her back.

"And what of Buckbeak?"

"Buckbeak?" she murmured and screwed her eyes up in the thought. "The Forbidden Forest?"

Sirius pulled away, frowning at her.

"Right, _Hagrid_, then?"

Sirius wrinkled his nose, shaking his head. "I'm attached to him," he said, gently shaking Althea. "A fugitive, like me."

"Right, we'll have a stable."

Sirius let out a noise of triumph and pulled Althea close to him. "Thank…you," he murmured between kisses. Althea closed her eyes as Sirius's cool fingertips glided over her breasts. "What day is it?"

"Saturday," she said, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

"Ah," he whispered, his moist breath warming her ear, "good."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave your comments and reviews.


	5. One Week Before the 3rd Task, June 1995

**One Week Before the Third Task, June 1995**

The filmy lilac fabric swirled about Althea's slender ankles. She carefully stepped over broken branches and rocks that jutted out from the moist earth. She tightly clutched the scrap of parchment in her hand—not to prevent herself from losing it, but to suppress her growing uneasiness in the Forbidden Forest. Only small shafts of light from the late afternoon sun peaked through the black, thick branches. Strange, low sounds, of what she hoped to be insects, caused Althea to quicken her pace. _Don't be silly_, she thought as her journey grew darker and darker, _unicorns live here…and giant spiders…and a three-headed dog_—

"Damn it, Sirius!" she muttered and gasped at the rustling to her right.

If it weren't for the path, the forest would be impenetrable with thick groves of pine and oak, and insidious underbrush, which clawed and grasped for her ankles. Althea walked along the poorly cleared path for what seemed to be an hour. It would be easy for one to become disoriented in such a setting, and when Althea swore she had passed the ancient yew twice, she came upon the silvery brook Sirius had mentioned in his letter. It was unsettlingly beautiful in the dark forest. She stepped forward, her nerves somewhat calmed by the monotonous, gentle sound of the clear water over stones. She unclasped her hand and sneered at the damp paper in her palm. His message was urgent and Althea could sense the fear in every word chosen. It was not safe for them to meet in Hogsmeade, or by Floo, or in the Shrieking Shack—only the Forbidden Forest, with its questionable creatures and seemingly sunless forest floor, could protect their meeting. Her eyes transfixed upon a dead leaf, from the previous autumn, and its meandering journey in the brook.

"Althea?"

Althea gasped—startled—and turned to face Sirius, who stood within three feet of her. She laughed nervously, clutching her hand to her breast. Sirius laughed sheepishly and ruffled the back of his hair—it was exceptionally long, but clean.

"I frightened you, didn't I?" he asked, stepping forward.

Althea nodded.

Sirius slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him. "Sorry, my love," he murmured and kissed her cheek.

Althea frowned. He had replaced the stale Azkaban robes with ill-fitting brown robes that smelt of mothballs. _I reckon it is some sort of improvement_, she thought, smoothing the frayed collar.

"Why must we meet in the forest?" she asked, her eyes looked over his thin shoulder to the empty clearing. She froze at the movement from a small shadow in the distance. She blinked and the shadow was gone. She cursed her heightened senses.

"I couldn't risk capture, could I?" he said, placing his palm upon her cheek.

"No," she murmured, "but this—"

"It'll do for what must be done."

Althea frowned slightly. "The letter?" she asked, and Sirius nodded. "What is wrong?"

"God," he breathed, his grey eyes hungrily taking in every feature, "how could I've betrayed you?"

Althea furrowed her brow. "Sirius—"

"Do you think I'm a coward?" he murmured with urgency in his voice—he tightened his embrace. "That I left you…that night—"

Althea sniffed his breath—it did not smell of Firewhiskey. "Let's not—"

Sirius rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "My Althea…Althea," he murmured, resting his hand upon the back of her head, his fingers entwined with in the thick, black locks. "That I cared more about our dead friends than you?"

Althea jerked her head backward. "What is wrong with you?" She yelped for Sirius's fingers remained in her hair. "Let go!" she growled, prying his fingers from her hair. "Let go of me!"

Althea freed herself, taking a few steps backward, as Sirius made a half-hearted attempt to retrieve her. She smoothed her hair and lifted her face to look upon him. Sirius appeared panicked—his grey eyes darted from side to side. Had he taken something? A potion? Had a self-administered spell backfired?

"What has happened?" she asked, slipping her hand into her wand pocket.

Sirius muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair. He gazed upon Althea, let out a whimper, and tugged upon the roots of his hair.

"Have you done something?" she asked, grasping her wand. "Are you in trouble?"

Sirius shook his head. "No, no, no!" he said and wiped his brow with his robe sleeve. "I knew this wouldn't work," he whispered and bit his lip. "I knew it! I knew it—"

Althea arched her eyebrows at the nervous, pre-occupied Sirius. His mannerisms were abnormal, and he was cowering—_cowering_—before her. _Good God, Black_, she thought, carefully exposing her wand from her pocket. Sirius hadn't noticed. He continued to murmur and to whimper, and his hair, his stature, seemed to be…_shrinking_.

Althea thrust the tip of her wand at the transforming man. "Who are you?"

The man looked upon her with his watery eyes and Althea did not hesitate with a curse.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" she shrieked, her feet steady as the force of her curse extended her spine.

God, how she wanted to disarm him and kill him with her hands! Her nostrils flared, she imagined her hands tearing into his flesh, her knees upon his chest, his eyes begging her for that last breath.

"What have you done to my Sirius?"

"I killed him!" Pettigrew shouted, blocking her curse.

He was quick—quicker than she remembered him to be—but one had to be quick to have defeated Sirius and fooled the Wizarding world.

"Learned something from Voldemort?" she teased and growled another curse.

The flash of gold light erupted around Althea, catching her breath. Her eyes widened as its scorching heat enveloped her. She couldn't stop herself from falling, nor could she fight the encroaching oblivion. It seemed as if it took her ages to fall….

* * *

><p><em>She smelled of Lily of the Valley. Althea closed her eyes and smiled at the sensation of the comb in her damp hair. It was in these moments the young Althea could sit silent, still. The gentle lilt of her mother's voice as she sang of broomsticks and cauldrons filled Althea's tiny ears and calmed her. <em>

_ "You're thinking of my perfume, aren't you?" her mother whispered, pulling Althea closer to her. _

_ Althea, her cheeks burning pink, nodded. How could she not be enchanted by the delightful smell from the beautiful crystal bottles upon her mother's dressing table? The many faceted bottles seemed to catch the sunlight, mesmerizing the little girl, calling her forward to inhale their warm, floral scent. _

_ "I will let you use some," she whispered and kissed the top of Althea's damp head. She laughed to herself. "I always seem to forget," she said and Althea felt a gentle tap and a warm sensation upon her scalp. "Perfect, as always, my little one." _

_ Althea closed her eyes and nestled herself against her mother's breast. "Where is Daddy?" _

_ "Bringing the car round," she answered and sighed at Althea's frown. "You would find this party very boring," she explained as Althea opened her eyes. Her mother wrinkled her nose, as she continued, "No balloons, or cakes, or children…only quiet music—"_

_ "Like Gran's parties," Althea said, pulling a face. _

_ Althea's mother nodded, making a similar face. "Like Gran's parties," she agreed. "I'd rather stay here with you and Marie." _

_ Althea pulled away, resting her hands upon her mother's shoulders. She looked firmly into her mother's large, olive-colored eyes. "Stay then." _

_ Her mother's lips upturned into a smile. "I wish I could, little one, but your father would be very bored," she said and quietly laughed as Althea pouted once more. "Enough," she murmured and kissed Althea's forehead. _

_ Suddenly, their small cottage shook—framed paintings swung violently upon the pale pink walls of the nursery. Althea gasped, and her mother—eyes wide—clutched Althea tightly to her. Another loud _boom! _and the cottage shook once more—Althea screamed—books and dolls were strewn about the floor. _

_ "Oh God," her mother whispered and swallowed. Her mother's heart pounded violently against Althea's cheek. _

_ Marie, breathless, entered the nursery. "It's him!" _

_ "Alert—"_

_ "We haven't time!" Marie warned and Althea felt Marie's thin hands grasp her arm. _

_ Althea growled and stubbornly clung to her mother. _

_ "She doesn't understand," her mother said—her voice weakened by fear. _

_ The cottage shook once more, allowing Marie to grasp Althea's small frame. Althea pleaded with her mother as Lady Morrigan hurried from the nursery. _No, I have to stay with Mummy_, she thought, wriggling, kicking, and dropping to the floor in an attempt to break free from Marie as the woman—with the all the determination she could muster—attempted to unlatch the nursery cupboard. However, Marie's grip was too strong, and in a last effort, Althea dragged her feet behind her, wrestling to break free from Marie's grip on her arm._

_"Mummy! No! I won't go!" Althea screamed, arching her back, attempting to break from Marie._

_"Althea, quiet!" Marie scolded, slapping her hand upon Althea's mouth. _

_Althea inhaled deeply through her nostrils and bit Marie's hand. Marie yelped and loosened her grip, allowing Althea to break free. Althea ran from the nursery, past the falling candlesticks, and into the sitting room where her mother stood at its center. Althea stopped a few feet from her mother. Her mother flinched at the crumbling ceiling, but her hand that held a long wooden stick remained steady. _What would she need to clean_, Althea wondered as her mother muttered nonsense. _

_"Althea!" Marie shouted. _

_Althea hiccoughed and darted forward, shouting, "Mummy!" _

_Sobbing, she threw her arms around her mother's legs and refused to let go._ I won't let you take me away_, she thought as her mother rested her hand against Althea's head and stroked her hair._ I won't hide—I won't!

_"Althea, sweetheart, let go." _

_"No, Mummy," Althea said, her small fingers clung to the folds of her mother's robes._

_"Everything will be all right," she murmured as she pulled Althea's hands from her robes. "Go."_

_Althea struggled to hold on. "No, no, I won't!" she sobbed, burying her face in her mother's robes._

_"My love, let go," she whispered, lifting Althea's tear-stained face. "I love you."_

_"Althea, come, little one," Marie said softly, placing her hand on Althea's shoulder. _

_Althea inhaled and coughed. She looked upon her mother's face—beautiful and elegant—now tears collected upon her thick black lashes. She felt her fingers loosening and Marie's grip tightening. The ground shook and her mother quickly knelt before Althea, pulling her close to her. Althea closed her eyes, losing herself in the scent of her mother's perfume. _

_"I love you," her mother fiercely whispered and roughly kissed Althea's cheek. "Now, go," she demanded and pushed Althea from her. _

_The tremors had stopped. The cottage was silent. The two women held their breaths and frantically looked about them. Her mother let out a gasp at the sound of footsteps upon the gravel. _

_"Come, Althea, hurry!" Marie whispered, sweeping Althea from the floor._

_Althea twisted herself in Marie's arms to look at her mother. Her mother did not look toward Althea, but instead, her gaze was fixed upon the door. _

_"In here, quickly!" Marie commanded and shoved Althea inside a cupboard. _

_Marie curled herself atop Althea, closing the cupboard door. She murmured in Creole, and the seals about the cupboard door glowed red. _

_"Don't say a word," Marie implored, covering Althea's mouth._

_Althea tightly shut her mouth as she heard the door creak open. _

_"Couldn't knock?" her mother taunted. _

_"We must relinquish some pleasantries, Diana," the man with the high-pitched voice replied. _

_"There are some things we mustn't forget, Tom." _

_Her mother's words seemed to enrage the man and there was a bright flash of light met with another more brilliant color. The light appeared to ricochet around the room as the two fiercely shouted at one another. Althea gasped at the sound of falling chairs and Marie covered Althea's mouth with her other hand, pressing herself against the little girl to quell her trembling. _

_"Shut your eyes!" Marie whispered._

_However, Althea refused to shut her eyes, and her brow furrowed as she attempted to keep track of the light. The different colors of light grew into a crescendo until the most brilliant green flash of light illuminated the cupboard. Her eyes widened at the silence. The man let out a shrill cry of laughter._ Is Mummy all right_, she thought—a sob caught in her throat—feeling Marie's heavy tears drip upon her hair. The man stepped over something and his footsteps grew closer—Marie tightened her grip of Althea. Althea's heart pounded wildly in her chest. She could defend herself and she had before—when that little boy with black hair stole her doll and turned its face green, she bit him and she would bite this man, too. _

_The footsteps stopped before the cupboard. The cupboard door was tapped twice, and Marie buried her face in Althea's back. _

_The man's voice was clear and high, and seemed to slither between the cracks in the cupboard, "She could have lived…" _

Peat. Althea wrinkled her nose at the smell of earth and wet. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open to the fog and the grey that lingered over the bog. She dug her hands into the sphagnum to lift herself, but discovered bulky iron chains wrapped about her body. She grunted to loosen herself and thought to transform, but searing metal blades tore into her flesh. She screamed—her voice the only sound that pierced the thick, encroaching fog.

Panting, she didn't look up when she heard the footsteps to her right. "Is it true…you went back to him…because you feared…Sirius more?"

The footsteps came closer.

Althea growled with rage. "I WILL MAKE YOU BEG FOR THE KISS!"

"You're in no position to threaten—"

Althea grasped at the moss and crushed it in vain. "What sort of man would murder a child?" she asked as a pair of worn brown shoes stopped before her. "Betray his friends? Betray their child?"

She looked up at the sad, pathetic figure of Peter Pettigrew. He looked as though he had spent twelve years as a rat—it was the best description of him. She felt the caustic bile rise in her throat at the sight of him and diverted her eyes from his repulsive figure.

"I let you—" she began, but shook her head. "Do you ever wonder what James thought? Lily? How could you beg Harry for your life after what you'd done!"

"The Dark Lord was powerful," he answered, his voice baring perceptible shakiness, "he would've—"

"_Killed_ you?" she said and laughed with spite.

Pettigrew kicked at the ground and a chunk of moss and earth pelted her face. Althea spat out the gritty dirt.

"I am not a pawn!" he shouted in his squeaky voice—his pasty complexion was a violent shade of purple. "It would've ended the war! Isn't that what we all wanted? An end!" He grasped Althea's hair, pulling her head upward to look at him. "Oh, but you—_you_," he sneered, his voice lowered—his thin lips snarled, "he was your lapdog! God, he was pathetic! You made him pathetic!" he spat, thrusting the hand with the missing index finger at Althea.

Althea's mind tuned out Pettigrew's squeaky accusations and fallacies at how her relationship with Sirius Black ruined the friendship of the four boys. Her eyes focused upon the missing index finger before her. With each accusation, he wagged that hand before her—the empty space a reminder of his betrayal. How had he been so clever? Had he always been clever, but just overshadowed by the more boisterous Black and Potter? It was his moment to show them, wasn't it? The small boy who helped construct the Marauder's Map, became an Animagus at fifteen, and dated one of the prettiest girls in Hogwarts, was truly powerful…a magical equal. _Did he ever think me a friend_, she wondered as Pettigrew continued to berate her. _Did he ever think Lily_?

"And _Wormy_—"

Althea lunged forward, with as much as the chains would allow her, and took as much of that foul hand—those remaining foul fingers—into her mouth as she could. Snarling, she bit down upon them and Pettigrew jerked his hand away, shrieking. Her eyes narrowed and she clenched her jaw, gagging upon the taste of skin and mud.

"You bitch!" he growled and Althea let go at the force of his other hand against her cheek.

She toppled to the sphagnum-covered earth and laughed cruelly at Pettigrew nursing his hand in the periphery. It was a small victory.

"Barbaric, isn't she, Wormtail?"

At the sound of the high-pitched voice, Althea's body froze in recognition. Very few survived in its presence.

"Remarkable likeness," he said, kicking her over onto her back, "but are you as stubborn?"

He did not look as Lily—in hushed tones—described him. He was a young man—no more than twenty-five—with vacant, glassy hazel eyes. It was true. His body so corrupted by the rebound of the Killing Curse, Voldemort sought a half-life in corpses, in vulnerable humans he could possess. _I would've chosen death_, she thought, and wondered if Voldemort consciously chose his victim's appearance based on his memory of what he once was. Was his victim magic or Muggle? He crouched next to her and brought the young man's cold hand to her face. He smiled as she cowered.

"How was I to know that little girl would kill some of my best…my most loyal," he said as Althea turned her head away from him. "Did you enjoy it?"

Althea clamped her mouth shut.

"You would've stopped if you didn't," he said, taking a curl into his hand. "How would you describe that moment…when one recognizes her death?"

Althea's heart sank into her abdomen.

"That moment," he said, placing the lock of hair over her eyes, "when the eyes grow vacant?"

How would they discover her? Would her body be left at Hogwarts? She imagined it would be much like the discovery of Professor Lawless at the Winter Fête. His lifeless body sprawled across the steps to the entrance hall—his blond hair soaked in his blood. Or would she just disappear? Would Sirius search for her in vain? A funeral for an empty coffin?

"I prefer the fear," he whispered and Althea gagged at the sickeningly overpowering sweet smell of rancid flesh. "I am the last memory…."

_ Panting heavily and stumbling over a fallen piece of ceiling, Daniel Morrigan cursed the shackles upon his hands that prevented him from Apparition or any transformation. The distant laughter had transformed to screams during the painful metamorphosis. Now, their howling echoed off the abandoned Underground walls. In the darkness, he quickened his steps to find the next tube stop. Miles of forgotten tracks traversed London and he hoped for an emergency exit or a dilapidated platform to escape, but every emergency door was bolted shut and the tracks seemed endless… _

_The growling and snorting grew near and he had very little time to escape—his sweat enticed them. It was the cruel twist that the greater exertion used to escape would only draw them faster to him. He would die or become one of them. His daughter, weeping at his hospital bedside, entered his mind. He would not be a burden, a shameful werewolf. He would choose death… _

_He grasped the smooth platform, hoisting himself up, but what felt like hundreds of razors plunged themselves into his right leg. His eyes widened with the terrifying realization, and he screamed from surprise and pain. He fought to keep his grip against the crumbling stone as the werewolf, snarling, pulled upon him. He shouted and pleaded for the beast to let go of him, but another male joined the beast, and soon the werewolves—their hot breath a putrid mixture of their last and current victims—dragged Daniel Morrigan to the tracks below. They seemed to fight over who would tear into his flesh, who would mangle his body. It was a gleeful endeavor that coated the walls with their prey's blood_…

Althea blinked, but the tears still blurred her vision.

"And you sought to mate with such a beast," Voldemort said, removing the lock of hair from her eyes. "He wasn't like _them_, you say? Wouldn't desire to taste your flesh at the full moon?"

Althea swallowed.

"I've offended her, Wormtail," he laughed and Wormtail let out a small, forced laugh. "A Muckblood that would lie with all sundry a beast!" He grasped her left wrist and dug his thumbnail into her flesh—she winced. "Ah, but you thought yourself _protected_."

The pad of his thumb grazed her tattoo and she shrieked with pain.

_Murdered Thyra and Centaurs were scattered about the smoldering forest floor. Death Eaters advanced upon a village_…

"I enjoyed my time with the Cartimandua," he said and pressed his thumb against the tattoo again, "but they didn't have what I wanted…"

_It was abysmally simple. It was dreadfully boring at the lack of challenge. Screaming, pleading…they were no better than Muggles. What witch would be without a wand? They didn't deserve their magic. He would seek to take that from them: their potions, their rituals, and their history. Those wanton bitches wouldn't die in vain…_

_The scrambling behind the hut door alerted him to that witch's presence. _

_"Voldemort—"_

_Enraged, he thought of striking the bitch where she stood. Oh, and she stood so proudly! Her thick brown hair fell nobly to her waist and she sought to adorn herself with magical, superstitious symbols of protection and fortune upon her wool tunic. It was laughable. Did the potion to destroy the flesh truly originate from the Thyra? _

_The woman threw an empty bottle of potion at the possessed woman's feet. "It is poison and I will be dead," she said and went to throw a brilliant green vial toward the woman. "You will never find it…_"

"Pity," he sighed.

Althea turned her face toward Voldemort. "Are you to kill me?" she sneered.

"Make her presentable, Wormtail," he said as he stood. "He should be arriving shortly, shouldn't he?"

Pettigrew grunted as he kicked Althea onto her side. She groaned at the dull sting in the middle of her back. _The Kiss is too good for you_, she thought as Pettigrew's footsteps faded. Alone in the eerie stillness, thick wisps of fog lingered over the low-lying ferns in the distance. It was futile to inch herself along the mire for she knew Pettigrew and Voldemort lurked in the periphery to taunt her…to torture her. Her eyes losing their focus, her mind wandered to Prudence. Her parents thought of her in their final moments as she would think of her daughter. It was cruel to have such little time with Prudence. The bond between mother and daughter, perpetual but newly acted upon, would come to little fruition…much like her own mother. She almost laughed in spite of herself at the current mimicry of her life. A small yellow light appeared in the distance and grew larger and larger as it approached. _A bloody hinkypunk_, she thought and inhaled deeply. However, with that growing light were footsteps—running—and heavy breathing.

"Althea?" Sirius shouted.

"Oh God!" she whispered as the light of his wand illuminated his face. "Don't!" she shouted, attempting to inch her way toward him. "Go!"

Sirius, running at full speed, pointed his wand at Althea. Instantly, the earth swelled beneath Sirius's feet, and Althea screamed as the exploding peat and mud propelled Sirius through the air. His momentum carried him forward and he landed, motionless, ten feet before her.

"No," she whimpered—a sob caught in her throat. With all her strength, she lurched herself forward. She dug her fingers into the cool, damp earth to hoist herself toward him. "No!"

"Stupid girl!" Voldemort growled. "_Crucio_!"

White-hot blades tore at Althea's flesh with surgical precision. Her body thrust into the air—her limbs contorted into unnatural shapes within the shackles—the sinews of her joints pulling apart. She couldn't scream—her throat could only produce gurgling sounds. Her eyes met with Pettigrew, and he hastily diverted his gaze. Althea let out a convulsive gasp for it felt as if every nerve fiber were on fire.

"Pray he's alive," he said as Althea caught her breath in what she knew as a momentary respite, "it is the only way you have a chance of living."

Her arms dangled at her sides; the dull ache in her extended elbows and shoulders intensified for she remained suspended above Voldemort. She groaned upon her labored inspiration at the sharp pains in her chest. Her eyes losing their focus, it took great physical effort to blink—her mind lulled to a numb fog. _This is how we are to die_…

_The rows of long, white candles cast an eerie, flickering light against the ancient grey stone walls and arches of Northfield Chapel. Desperate, Althea lit each candle, and now, she stood before them—her body refusing to relinquish its anxious tremble. Two days. It was a simple mission—or so Sirius said—and he would return the next evening at the latest. When a somber James returned to Lily and could not offer the women Sirius's whereabouts, Althea assumed his capture or death. James offered to search for him; nevertheless, Sirius remained missing. She searched St. Mungo's for him among the mangled corpses and moaning, disfigured casualties. With a sour stomach, she read the _Daily Prophet_ about the recent dead. _

_Suddenly, she heard footsteps along the stone floor. Gasping, she quickly turned—her eyes, filling with tears, widened in recognition and she raised a trembling hand to her mouth. Muddied and bruised, Sirius rushed forward and Althea collapsed into his arms. She buried her face against him—he smelled of sweat and earth and gunpowder. He held her tightly to him, his hand roughly stroking her hair. _

_"You should be cross with me," he murmured, his voice had lost its jovial, casual lilt. _

_Althea shook her head, holding him tighter. "I thought you dead, I searched St. Mungo's—"_

_Sirius pulled away, lifting her chin with his thumb and forefinger. Althea gasped at his appearance—his hair matted with mud, streaks and splatters of dried blood upon his face (Althea wondered how much was his own), and his eyes that did not waver from her face…his eyes that seemed lifeless, broken. _

_Sirius let go, resting his forehead against hers. He tightly shut his eyes and sniffed. "I love you…" _

Sirius began to stir. He groaned, shaking his head, and lifted himself from the ground. He saw Althea before him and, with his face contorted with pure fury, rushed forward with wand drawn. As if expecting Sirius's reaction, Voldmort cast the Cruciatus Curse again—Althea's body shuddering and jerking violently to Sirius's horror. Sirius, the first syllables of the Killing Curse past his lips, was halted as the wall of Fiendfyre—in the form of fiery, contorting serpents—rose before him.

"Will you not beg for her?" Voldemort taunted.

Sirius growled—thrashing his wand in the air—but at every step, every opening, the Fiendfyre obstructed him.

"Promise that you would do anything for her? To protect her?" he continued—Althea shrieked as it felt as if her intestines burst from her abdomen. "Isn't that what heroes are supposed to do?"

Beg? Promise? Althea's eyes unfocused and focused once more upon Sirius. She would die—she understood that—but Voldemort counted on Sirius's guilt and love for Althea to blind himself from that eventuality and to negotiate for her, to come to some benefiting end for Voldemort. For years she had believed that Sirius had traded her life for the Potters, and even when she discovered the Secret Keeper switch, the thought that she were the ultimate reason for the switch—and not Pettigrew's apparent ineptitude and insignificance—would not be freed from her mind. Althea's life for Harry's life.

"Let me die!" she moaned, loud enough for Sirius to hear. "Die like Lily and James!"

Voldemort laughed shrilly at Althea's admission. Her wet eyes met with Sirius, and she saw the recognition—the anguish—upon his face.

"Go," she mouthed and Sirius slowly lowered his wand.

She closed her eyes.

"I will give you Wormtail," he said—Althea imagined the urgency in his offer. "Your freedom."

Pettigrew whimpered behind her.

"The Muckblood and Wormtail, Black."

Althea felt herself floating toward the flames. The searing heat of the Fiendfyre would not be as terrible as the Cruciatus Curse.

"Did you know she completed those potions in hope to have a child?" he said and Althea opened her eyes. "Yes, your child!"

Sirius's resolve briefly faltered. Althea's stomach somersaulted with shame at her deception.

"Didn't she—didn't she tell you?"

Sirius inhaled—his nostrils flared. "D'you think I'd help you?" he shouted and raised his wand to his temple. "_Avada_—"

Voldemort shrieked, which allowed the flames to lower. Sirius charged forward, leaping over the rising flames. In mid-leap, and with a booming voice, he aimed his wand at Voldemort—the flash of eerie green light erupted from his wand. Althea gasped as the invisible cords that held her suspended gave way, and she free fell. She bounced as her body—now unbound—hit the spongy earth. Dazed, she felt Sirius's arms embrace her—his body shielding her from the hot, howling wind. The wind swirled around them with greater intensity—pelting them with fragments of peat. The heat, unbearable, was accompanied by a shrieking wail that pierced her eardrums, and horrific images of torture and death entered her mind as the wailing increased its volume. _Please_, she begged—the roar of fiery wind deafening, its intense heat unbearable against her skin.

"_Perfugio_," Sirius exhaled and tightened his embrace.

At once, they lifted from the ground—their bodies in the tornado of fire and earth. The two violently spun in the vortex. The only attachment between them was Sirius's arms, which were locked in a crushing embrace. Althea gasped for breath, as their bodies twisted in what seemed like a tunnel. The two brutally tossed about as if a buoy on the sea. The rushing wind and wailing faded, and finally, stopped.

Althea opened her eyes to blue sky. To her left, sparrows flitted about a bush, pleasantly chirping. Her eyes strained to look about her. They were not at Hogwarts, nor the grounds of Northfield, but upon the lawn of Dunwell Hall. Sirius's wet face was pressed against her own—his tears trickled onto her temple and coursed through her scalp. She turned her face and kissed his wet cheek. Sirius lifted his head—his face red with tears—and roughly placed his hand upon her cheek. He continued to weep, resting his forehead against hers. He smelled of peat, and sweat, and hippogriff, but Althea did not care. She inhaled deeply his scent, knowing that he was alive and in her arms. Sirius Black would willingly die for Althea and she for him.

Sirius loudly sniffed. "You took those potions?"

Althea hiccoughed. "Is that…all you can say?" she asked, but nodded.

Sirius did not answer, but pressed his lips to hers.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Thank you very much for reading. I apologize for the longer interval between updates. Thank you so much for the all the comments and reviews. I have enjoyed reading them. Please, do not hesitate to leave a comment.


	6. Dunwell Hall, June 1995

**Dunwell Hall, June 1995**

Althea rolled onto her side, opening her eyes. She frowned slightly at the empty space beside her upon the large, ancient bed. She sat up, pulling the thick, faded green bedclothes to her chest. Sunlight attempted to pass through the dirtied, emerald stained glass windows. Heavy embroidered curtains that once hung from the carved dark wood of the Tudor bed were in piles upon the floor about the bed, and a large tapestry that draped the high stone wall to her right depicted a unicorn hunt. Althea wrinkled her nose. _Never subtle, were they_, she thought, arching her back. Sirius stood—with his hands upon the stone that framed the farthest window—in a dressing gown, of black silk and velvet, opened and fitted loosely about him. He hadn't noticed her roused from sleep—his gaze was too intently focused on the scene outside the window. Nor did he acknowledge her when she slipped off the bed or her muffled footsteps against the dense, worn rug as she walked toward him. She had seen that distant look before, often when he was lost in thought. She slid her arms around his thin waist, at which he jolted slightly from surprise.

He placed his hands over hers. "Sorry, I—"

"It's all right," she whispered, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

"No," he murmured, his thumb massaging the back of her hand, "no, it isn't."

"I was nervous for ages after I left," she said, inhaling the faint whiff of stale fabric and old cologne. "I am still…sometimes…large crowds for one—"

"No, it isn't that," he replied and inhaled deeply. Upon exhaling, he said, "I—I don't know what to do."

Althea, silent, frowned.

"Am I the cause of all of this?" he wondered, his fingers gently stroking her arms. "What I'd done…" He held Althea's arms tighter to him. "If I'm to blame for Peter rejoining Voldemort—"

"He might've been helping him this entire time," Althea conjectured and furrowed her brow, remembering the relative peace for all those years and the sudden, strange occurrences of recent years. "Waiting for Harry's return—there was not a breath of Voldemort before Harry started Hogwarts. It is entirely possible that both bided their time until Harry's return…when the boy was most vulnerable."

Sirius nodded. "Exactly the reason he chose a magical family…he's been aware of the goings on at Hogwarts for over ten years now—knows every vulnerability, every threat—"

"If anything, your escape sent their plan into upheaval—"

"And they'll remove every threat," he murmured.

_What are we to do_, she wondered as Sirius had fallen into silence. She did not feel as if she were a threat to Voldemort. She felt more like a pawn. She was a necessary expendable in Voldemort's obsession to destroy Harry Potter. She was the lover of Sirius Black, who would protect Harry—out of profound love and obsessive guilt—without regard for his own life. With the removal of Sirius, the only wizard that obstructed Voldemort's path to Harry was Dumbledore.

"It's like a prison here, isn't it?" he said, pulling her hands from him. "I can't ask you…day after day—" he began, but threw his head back and sighed. "It's the only choice."

Althea arched her eyebrow. "What choice?"

Sirius slowly turned—his expression pensive—and hesitantly licked his bottom lip.

"What are you asking of me?"

Sirius attempted to comb his fingers through his matted hair. "I want you to stay at Dunwell."

Althea sneered. "Dunwell?" she replied and shook her head. "Oh, Sirius, I won't."

Sirius gently grasped her bare shoulders. "Listen to me—"

"It is ridiculous," she said and pulled a face at her surroundings. "Dunwell—"

"It is _safe_," he said, shaking her slightly. "Please understand—"

"Where will you be?" she asked, straightening. "Are you to stay here with me?"

Sirius was silent.

His refusal licked at her belly. It was to be as it was before. She was to remain hidden and he free to do as he pleased.

"Do as we had done last time?" she pressed and Sirius looked toward the floor. "Oh, and that worked _perfectly_, didn't it?"

Sirius sighed and she clenched her jaw at its condescending tone.

Althea pried Sirius's thin hands from her. She made a noise of annoyance as she stooped to pick up her robes.

"Keep me out of the way so the choice won't have to be made?" she remarked. "As you are free—"

"It won't be as it was before—"

Althea laughed lowly, knowingly. "It very much will be," she said, thrusting her arm through her sleeve. "Why must you decide for me?"

Sirius reached for her and she pulled away once more.

"I won't let you keep me here," she said, thrusting her other arm through her sleeve. "I won't agree to it," she said, roughly securing her filmy lilac robes together with the silver clasp. "I won't sequester myself as Prudence—"

"Voldemort will go after Prudence," he said and Althea's hands fell limp to her sides.

"Of course," she said, regaining her conviction, "and that is why—"

"_Yes_," he said in earnest, cupping her face with his hands, "they wouldn't hesitate to take her. To use you—"

"To get to you," she said, her hands clasping his wrists, "to get to Harry."

Sirius closed his eyes, and Althea pushed herself from him.

"It isn't about our daughter's safety," she said, backing away from him toward the bedroom door, "or mine…it never was."

"No, no, I didn't mean that!" he countered, stepping forward. "My love—"

Althea growled. "Voldemort ready to kill me and that produces _nothing_ in you?"

Sirius was ghostly white. "_What_?" he breathed with the utmost shock. "After everything—"

"Go ahead and tell her that she's a bloody afterthought," she said and turned toward the door. "I'm sure if you bought her something it would ease the blow—"

The heavy oak door slammed before Althea. She pounded her fist against it, letting out a scream.

"Do not twist my words," he said with a grave calm. "He has Peter, but that's not enough. You know this," he said and Althea turned to face him. "He will control the dementors again, and those in Azkaban will be freed—"

"Bellatrix?"

Sirius nodded. "It is best that you and Prudence—"

"To ease your mind?" she remarked, folding her arms.

Sirius lifted his hand to his thick, matted hair—bemused. "That's not what—"

"You haven't spoken otherwise!" she said, thrusting arms to her sides.

He growled, tugging at the roots of his hair. "_You_ are my family," he said, grasping her shoulders. "You're all I've got—"

"Don't be a coward, Sirius, and say it," she demanded. "You're afraid that I'd trade Harry for my daughter's life."

Sirius sputtered.

Althea broke herself free from Sirius. "You'll never have to worry about that decision," she said, pointing her wand at the door handle. "She's all I've got."

Sirius roughly grasped Althea, jerking her forward. "I'm not a coward!" he said through gritted teeth, pressing himself against her—Althea attempted to catch her breath. "Why do you think—everything I've done—"

As Althea wiggled to free herself, he forced himself further against her.

His face maddened with grief, he spoke, "What more must I do?"

The relief of the door pressed against her spine—she winced at the sharp pain.

He thrust his wand against her temple. "_Conspicio clarum empathia_," he growled.

Her eyes transfixed with his, the still photographs of Sirius's life flickered from behind his grey eyes and came into focus. Althea gasped at the nauseating effect of the powerful Empathy Charm. Her consciousness, jolted from her body, sped through the tunnel of thirty-five years worth of memories. Every experience, every thought, every emotion of Sirius Black were her own. She felt the disappointment and failure of an eleven-year-old boy unable to perform a simple charm before his looming parents, the searing jealousy at the lavish praise a girl with long, curly black hair received from her father at the train station, and the exhilaration that escaping the clutches of Argus Filch could bring to four boys that raided the kitchens. The rush, the adrenaline coursed through her veins—her senses heightened and the nerves of her belly tight—with each firefight. She, clutching for the sleeves Sirius's dressing gown, succumbed to the orgasmic feeling evoked by the emboldened, blazing blue eyes in the candlelight…a delicious narcotic, easily and eagerly savored. She was jolted to the quiet, gentle stillness of a late summer night and the uncertainty and self-doubt that a growing abdomen beside him evoked. She attempted to push herself away—to break the bond between them—as Sirius, overcome with fear, searched the grounds of Northfield. Sirius held tightly to Althea, and tears streaked her cheeks as he stood upon the railing that overlooked the tumultuous river below—wild with grief, lost. Dizzy, she weakly begged for the memories of Azkaban to stop…until that moment when sunlight shone upon his face. He was alive and jubilant. His gaze often followed her form—appreciating her, loving her, amazed that she would love him so. He listened intently—upset, but proud that he could help—as Prudence on other side of the fireplace quietly told him of the boy that teased her. The serpentine flames slithered higher and higher, obscuring the writhing Althea and the Inferius—controlled by Voldemort—mocking them. He lifted his wand to his temple—its tip poking him as his hand trembled—he uttered the first word…. He clutched her sleeping form closely to him. Sirius ached to lose himself in her embrace—in the tangle of her soft, sweet-smelling curls. He firmly shut his eyes, but the tears escaped. He was a pathetic failure….

The memories slowed and the tunnel widened until the two, in the sunlit room, remained. Synchronized heavy breathing pierced the quiet. The two were reluctant—if not too exhausted—to look away from one another. Sirius grasped her hand and wordlessly lifted her thumb to his lips. Her belly constricted and her skin flushed with warmth at that memory.

"Let me go," she whispered, gently prying herself from him. "You won't have to worry about me any longer."

Sirius did not reach for her, nor did he make loud, overt demonstrations for her. It seemed useless now. He knew her heart and she his. It was the unlucky side effect of such a powerful spell. Quiet, broken, his dulled grey eyes lowered their gaze. Althea reached for the door handle and pulled with all her might to open the heavy oak door. She hurriedly walked the corridor—the sleepy murmurs of Sirius's ancestors grew louder with each hurried step, down the creaking staircase, and across the massive entrance hall. She didn't hear shouting, or explosions, or objects being thrown about behind her. Sirius was unnervingly quiet. _Sirius, what have you done_, she thought, reaching for the entrance doors. Sirius's memories swam about her mind in a turbulent ebb and flow. She vigorously shook her head as she grasped the cool metal.

The sunlight met her eyes, briefly blinding her with its brightness. _Would I trade one prison for another_? Althea stepped onto the grounds—Dunwell's once beautiful gardens now decrepit and in scraggly, overgrown ruin. Would she subject Prudence to the same fate? To spend one's days in isolation? She would be safe, yes, but her happiness would wane to depression and despair. How could it not? How long before Prudence would rebel? Run away? Her head slightly bent, she walked forward along the dirt and gravel path. Periodically, she would fight the urge to stop and turn her head, certain Sirius was not far behind; however, his footsteps could not be heard. Reaching the gate, she waited for the lorry to pass.

_He wants to protect you_, she thought, her fingers grasping the intricately woven wrought iron serpents. The gate glowed red—its hinges groaning and creaking open. She turned her face to look upon the grounds—she was alone.

"But at what cost?" she whispered.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Please, don't hesitate to leave comments, reviews, etc.


	7. Hogwarts, June 1995

**Hogwarts, June 1995**

Bertha Jorkins. The silvery wisp of the plump girl with blonde hair and the scowling face floated in her mind just as it did in Dumbledore's Pensieve. Althea let out a small laugh through her tears at the feigned guilty looks of the teenage Sirius and Althea._ How was I to know he'd hex her as well_, she thought, pulling her knees to her chest. She opened her eyes—her tears blurred the sunlit lawn of Hogwarts.

"Enough," she murmured and, with her handkerchief, discretely dabbed below her eyelids. "No more tears."

Althea curled her toes, digging themselves into the warm, thick grass. The leaves of the beech tree rustled above her head. Often when her mind was troubled, Althea would seek out solitary respite in nature; however, after such a morning, the gentle breezes or the welcoming sunshine upon the Hogwarts grounds could not ease her mind. Prudence and her three friends—barefoot—splashed about the shore of the lake. It was as before, wasn't it? The four girls were oblivious to the turmoil that surrounded them. Althea sighed, resting her chin upon her folded arms. Most were oblivious of what was to come. Her hand clutched the handkerchief—the silver embroidery of Sirius's initials peaking through her fingers. Lily never felt as strongly. Jane lived in dreams and superficialities. Sophie had yet to form such a strong attachment. Yet, at fifteen, Althea could feel such a fierceness of affection toward Sirius. What made it so? No man had such an affect on her. No person. She thought of former lovers with indifference, embarrassment, or warmth, but never the turmoil that bubbled within her at Sirius's memory. He felt as intensely for her as she for him. She furrowed her brow to suppress Sirius's memories—such a stupid spell to cast! Now, Sirius sought to be as it was before and used the powerful Empathy Charm to influence her. She wasn't as naïve as before. She had witnessed grave, terrible things. How could she hide when she knew what was to come?

"What am I to do?" she whispered, twisting the handkerchief in her hand.

She thought of Memory Charms. As Sirius slept beside her, she would have him forget the impending uncertainty and the two would travel abroad—just as Prudence wished. Still, it would not be a life of freedom. The anxiety of Sirius the fugitive would be an undercurrent difficult to rise above. Despite carefully crafted lies, it was possible to overcome Memory Charms, and Sirius was powerful enough to do so. He would wonder about their frequent travel, her reluctance of public places, and her deflective answers—she was, as Sirius mused, a terrible liar. _He would never forgive me_, she thought, _if anything happened to Harry_. Althea's attention focused upon her daughter, who tossed the black curls from her laughing face. It was how Althea imagined Prudence's life—a girl free from worry or the darkness that encompassed her parents—a life consumed with friendship, burgeoning interest in the opposite sex, and her only obligation to her Hogwarts' classes. _I want you to have more of this_, she thought as Prudence splashed Genevieve.

"But at what price?" she wondered as Genevieve returned a splash with equal force.

Hogwarts was no longer safe. She frowned—was it ever, really? Sirius proved just how easily a person could infiltrate Hogwarts, and Pettigrew had lived inside its walls for years. A sick feeling swelled inside her stomach at the thought of Pettigrew observing her from the shadows and nooks of the corridors, rummaging through her office, and lurking about her quarters. He, no doubt, learned of Althea's habits, through which he easily lured her to the Forbidden Forest. Realizing Prudence alive, he could and would do the same. Althea inhaled deeply through her nostrils, curling and extending her fingers. Dumbledore was not dismissive of her concerns, but he seemed disinterested. He was preoccupied with the Pensieve before him—of Bertha Jorkins silvery memory and her own recollection of the woman. When Althea shouted for him to forget about Jorkins and to understand her concern over the Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore stared at her with that same calm expression that infuriated her so. Phineas Nigellus accused her of madness and sought to bait her in a one-sided shouting match.

Althea thrust her fists against the warm earth. _Are we to continue_, she thought—the girls, having enough of the lake, rested upon the grass to tie their shoes. _Are we to ignore the danger…to go on in ignorance_? Althea unfolded the handkerchief, her fingertips tracing the silver script. Prudence lay sprawled across the grass—her face, peaceful. Althea's stomach turned at the uncertainty before them. Prudence would remain innocent and unaware of the struggle between mother and father—of the well intentioned, but misguided Sirius—and, once more, the burdensome decision rested upon Althea. It was selfish to keep Prudence at Dunwell—to isolate her from friendship and to limit her magical education. She would not rest easy in such isolation, especially with hesitant answers and half-truths. Moreover, would those protections that Arcturus placed truly protect her? Magic had loopholes. Prudence plucked a small, yellow flower at her side and brought it to her nose. Distance had protected Prudence before, and distance could protect Prudence once more…distance from Althea, from Sirius. Althea furrowed her brow and inhaled a shaky breath to stave her tears.

"Edwina and James were right," she murmured, "so right."

Althea blotted the tears from her cheeks. There was little alternative. _Why must we have such little time_? She let out a quiet growl of frustration at the helplessness and cruelty of her situation. Just granted such open contact with her daughter and now it must end. There was little doubt that Prudence would return to Edwina and James Parker. Such a distance from Althea would keep Prudence safe—it kept her safe the eleven years before her return to the magical world.

In the distance, Prudence quickly sat up. She surveyed the grounds with a sense of boredom—a look inherited from her father. Althea furrowed her brow. _He would do anything to find you_, she thought as Prudence blew a curl from her eyes, _anything to keep you_. Althea inhaled an unsteady breath. Prudence, upon noticing Althea, gave a quick, eager smile and waved. Althea weakly returned a wave. Satisfied, Prudence returned to haughty observation.

"I, alone, will protect you."

* * *

><p>The long, thin leaves upon the drooping branches of the Whomping Willow rustled in the slight breeze. Althea adjusted her shawl, pulling the silken fabric tightly about her. The sound of the softly hooting owl in the distant darkened trees would soon lull her into a stupor…<p>

_Althea scratched the tip of her nose, the silver chains about her wrist clinked as she did so. She growled and shook her wrists in a futile effort to remove them, but the chains only clinked louder_. How long will I be chained in this bloody room, _she wondered, pulling her knees to her chest._ Oh, but it's just as lovely as a Michelin-starred hotel! _She forcefully chipped away at a blue tile, but with very little progress. Sitting upon a bare blue and white tiled window seat, Althea further curled her knees to her chest. It once had fine blue and white silk pillows, but Althea had torn them apart in a rage two weeks ago. She glanced to her right, surveying the further destruction of one month's confinement in Alexandria: shattered wall sconces and lanterns, delicately painted wood furniture in pieces, and books and papers ripped and strewn about the tile floor_. Sister Margaret did say I was improving nicely…whatever that meant.

_Althea's gaze returned to the large window and the courtyard below. It had been over a year since she held a flower. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply—her lungs painfully at capacity—the sweet, potent fragrance of the flowers below. It was early afternoon and, in a few moments, the sun would reach its maximum through her large window that encompassed almost the entire outward white stone facade. She would await its rays and the burning, stinging feeling the prolonged exposure would produce upon her skin_. Progressing nicely. _A faint cool breeze caressed her nape and she sat to attention; she was not accustomed to a bare neck. She had wished Sister Margaret or one of her attendants would use a charm or salve to grow her hair, but all refused. Althea, with her legs crossed and her eyes squinted shut, had attempted to will her hair to grow, but to no avail—it remained in an odiously cropped curl_. _Maybe her magic was gone. Azkaban was capable of rendering a witch powerless. How else could she explain her lack of Animagus transformation when she had done so easily prior to imprisonment? Oh, she tried in Azkaban, spent an entire day—maybe—in an attempt to transform. She had a gleeful fantasy of transforming herself, flying out between her bars, and in to Sirius's cell. She flung herself from her bed, only for her human form to be met with the damp stone ground. Sirius finally questioned the noise, which provoked Althea into a rage. Once more, she felt the muscles in her arms tense, her blood cool, and her heart almost thumping out of her throat. Her hands became claw-like as she relieved their explosive row. Such displays of hatred and filth instigated the dementors_.

_Althea shrieked, opening her eyes. The room was still. Upon the opposite support hung the framed photograph of mother and infant daughter. Althea quickly looked away. Was that her consolation prize? A job teaching a useless subject at Hogwarts? And with such a cruel twist! Her daughter, believing herself Muggle-born, would see no need to sit for such a class_. I don't want to improve myself, _she thought and sneered_. Another woman is raising my daughter—my daughter! _Althea thrust her arms at her sides—the chains clanked against the tile_. She'd think—_Althea sighed loudly_—if it weren't for that little bitch none of this—

_Althea smacked herself across her face. How could she think that? Althea raised her palm to her abdomen—the humble white linen shift covered the burns left from those terrible curses. _What would you think of me?

_Shuffling steps alerted Althea to her visitor. She groaned internally at Sister Margaret's gentle, but persistent knock_.

"_Right," she sighed, and turned her attention toward the doorway, "come in, then. I won't throw anything at you today…I promise." _

_Sister Margaret, in flowing pale blue robes, entered Althea's sunny prison. Althea raised an eyebrow at Sister Margaret's healthy distance from the ex-convict. _

"_Dressed today—"_

"_Oh, this lovely white monstrosity? Forced to, really—"_

"_You look well, Althea," Sister Margaret said over Althea. _

_Althea quieted. In the doorway, she noticed a figure fidgeting in the shadowed hallway. _

"_A visitor, then?" she remarked, leaning forward from the window seat. "Who from my past this day?" she asked and held up her wrists. "Take these damn things off, will you?"_

_Sister Margaret shook her head. "He will see you as you are," she said and beckoned for the figure to enter. _

_Remus Lupin, with trepid footsteps, entered. His head bent, his mousy brown hair covered his eyes and obscured his thin, pale face. It was longer than she remembered and his clothes were haggard. She felt slight indignation that he would not wear his finest clothes to greet his oldest, dearest friend; however, with his appearance, they just might have been. _

"_Will you not look at me, Remus?" she asked, craning her neck toward him. _

_Remus slowly lifted his face. Once his pale eyes met her form, he swallowed…repulsed. _

"_Althea—"_

"_It's not a bloody question, Remus." _

_Remus inhaled a ragged breath. He forced his calmest and most placating smile. _

_Rage licked at Althea's insides. He forced such a smile when Mrs. Parker tucked the pink blanket beneath Prudence's chin… grasping Althea's arms tighter as he did so. _

_Althea leaned back and let out a guttural noise of disgust. "Don't you dare smile at me, you fucking half-breed." _

_Remus blinked, bemused. _

_Sister Margaret smiled sympathetically at Remus. "Do not take it to heart, it is common—"_

"_What?" Althea laughed as Sister Margaret spoke with Remus. "It's the truth! A bloody half-breed," she added, throwing up her hands at Remus—the chains rattled and clinked (Remus appeared mildly horrified). "Maybe over tea he'll tell you the story of how it happened. It's a real tear-jerker," she added and then turned her attention toward Remus, whispering loudly to him, "She enjoys that sort of thing." _

_Sister Margaret nodded at Remus. "I will leave you…if you would need—"_

"_Thank you," he murmured, "and thank you for your kindness—"_

_The old woman smiled. _

_Althea's gaze followed Sister Margret from the room. She noticed that Remus had not kept that safe distance between them. _

_Once alone, Althea spoke, "Come to help me?"_

_Remus was silent. _

"_Or come to congratulate yourself?" _

_Remus stepped forward. "That isn't—"_

"_It frightens you, doesn't it?" she said and licked her bottom lip. "What I've become…you've spent your entire life running from murder and I embraced it—"_

"_I came because Gran—" _

"_God, Remus, you're so predictable!" she bemoaned, throwing her head back. She paused, briefly forgetting her argument as the sunlight breached the whitewashed walls. She lifted her head. Remus was pale. "Out of duty, I suppose." _

"_I came for you," he said with some force. _

_Althea laughed. "Guilt!" she replied, slamming her palms against the tile. "D'you believe you could've stopped me? Held me back as you had done to take my child from me!" _

_Remus lowered his head and sighed. _

"_You disgust me—"_

"_I disgust you?" _

_Althea unleashed a ferocious scream and leapt from the window seat—the chains digging into her wrists—toppling into the stunned Remus. The metal tore at her flesh as the two struggled_. I disgust you, I repulse you_, she thought, and—having pinned him below her—smiled wickedly, almost maniacal, at the trail of scarlet upon her arm. She reached for her blood, coating her fingers, and held it above his face. _

"_Althea," he begged. _

_Althea relished in the terror that she could elicit in him. "I disgust you," she whispered within inches of his face. She dragged her bloodstained fingers across his tightly shut lips. "Taste me—" _

_Remus growled, throwing Althea from him. Althea landed near the window—her back slammed against the wall. She laughed cruelly. _

"_Isn't that what you want?" she asked as Remus hurriedly wiped the blood from his lips and chin. _

_Remus went to stand, but Althea grasped his legs and pulled him downward. He landed with a thud within inches of her bed. The two snarled and growled as Remus struggled to free himself from Althea. At the flash of skin, Althea lurched forward; her teeth sank into his flesh. Immediately, with the power of his bitten hand, he threw her backward. Althea fell upon the tiled floor, laughing. _

_Remus, gagging, cradled his injured hand. "Do you realize what you've done?" he asked wildly. _

_Althea allowed the metallic tasting droplets to pass her tongue. She swallowed. It was euphoric. An exhilarating flush came in waves over her skin and Althea writhed in the intense pleasure. Her broken nails clawed at the tiles, and she moaned—arching her back. Soon, she felt large hands lifting her from the ground, and they did not let go. _

_Remus stood and was quiet. His face appeared much older than twenty-five years. He looked around him at her quarters and shook his head. His eyes focused upon Althea and he spat on the ground before her. _

"_Manipulative bitch," he said as Althea attempted to jostle forward, "I've hurt you? I've put up with your tiresome theatrics for years—"_

_Althea arched an eyebrow. _

_He lifted her chin toward him. "You want me to taste you?" _

_Althea swallowed. _

"_The next full moon I will, without hesitation," he promised, letting go. He stepped away, sneering. "I don't know why they let you live," he said, reaching under his frayed collar. He produced a small silver locket and, with a faint grunt, pulled it from his neck. "I'm through…to hell with Gran…and to hell with you." _

_Remus Lupin threw the locket at Althea's feet. Without any hesitancy, and with the most deliberate footstep, he left. Once alone, Althea sunk to the floor for she felt a small pinch in her gut—a feeling foreign for many years. Guilt. The silver locket with the broken chain rested before her. Althea sniffed, taking the weathered locket into her hands. _

"_Why would you…?" she wondered and pressed the locket's clasp. _

_Althea let a small gasp escape at the photograph of the trio. Her eyes hungrily took in the happy face of Remus and Althea, who held the newborn Prudence. Feeling the obnoxious sensation of tears welling in her eyelids, she forcefully shut the locket._ I should have died, _she though, tightening her grip upon the locket_. Remus is right. _Althea screamed and threw the locket at the remaining unbroken and unlit lantern_…

Althea sighed with mild annoyance. _You're late_, she thought, lifting her face toward the waning moon. Soon, she heard muffled footsteps encroaching toward her on the dewy grass. Althea did not turn around; instead, her stare remained transfixed upon the enormous, looming tree before her. There was an uneasy silence between the couple.

"Althea—"

"How did my father die?" she asked.

Remus Lupin inhaled a sharp breath.

Althea faced him. The robes Afina had created were already worn and frayed at the sleeves. With his hair unkempt, he appeared exceptionally pale and sickly in the moonlight.

She took a step forward. "How did my father die, Remus?"

His expression was one of mild distress. He clasped his hands behind his back and shifted his weight to his heels. His lips remained firmly shut.

"You know, don't you?"

Remus was silent, but after a moment, he nodded. "Althea, let's not—"

"I want to hear it," she said, folding her arms, "from you."

Remus unclasped his hands, and shoved them into his robe pockets. He refused to meet her firm gaze. Althea slightly tilted her head to its side. _That you would keep it from me_? Would it have changed their friendship if he had told her? She knew it wouldn't, and she knew him not to be her father's murderer, but she felt unease at Remus's hesitancy and seeming guilt.

"_Remus_—"

"Werewolves," he answered—there seemed an instantaneous agitation in his mannerisms. He looked about him and added in a whisper, "It was werewolves, all right?"

"I'm not accusing you—"

He sighed heavily. "You might as well," he said, and swallowed—his face full of disgust. "It was meant for you," he continued and pointed to his chest. "_I_ was meant for you."

"What do you mean?"

Remus's knowing eyes focused upon the silhouette of the Whomping Willow behind her. "The Winter Fête."

It felt as if a knife was plunged deep into her abdomen. She let out a high-pitched gasp and grasped her side.

"The Winter Fête?" she whispered.

For years, she believed it an accident, and neither Dumbledore nor her father disclosed any malevolent inkling otherwise. It was not until she read the account in her father's journal that Remus's escape might have been deliberate. Was it by chance that Althea met with Remus on the night he was released from the Whomping Willow? Was it a lucky happening for the perpetrator? Or was she followed, studied by those that would seek to destroy her father? Often, she would take solitary walks around Hogwarts and its grounds at nighttime. Newly fallen snow would have made a difficult escape.

Remus reluctantly nodded. "It wasn't an accident that I was let out of the Shrieking Shack," he explained gravely. "You were to be a message to your father."

Althea looked to the small space of earth between them. "How long have you known?"

Remus was hesitant.

"How long have you known?" she repeated, not looking up.

"During the war," he answered and Althea bit the inside of her cheek. "I didn't want to upset you," he said, placing his warm hands upon her shoulders. "You—you would've done anything…and I couldn't—I couldn't have you like me—"

Althea looked up.

Remus inhaled a ragged breath. "They were good people, Althea," he said. "They were used just as I had been…they would never—never…" He paused, furrowing his brow. "I loved you and I would've killed you. Please, don't—"

"I sought revenge upon my father's death long ago," she said, closing the space between them. "What peace did it bring me?"

Indeed, what peace? The rage at the brutality and uncertainty of her father's murder did not lessen with the knife plunged in Plucheria Oswin's abdomen. It festered until the putrid emotion consumed her, and—unhinged—her fate was Azkaban.

Remus's face was thoughtful. "Why bring up—"

"I saw my father's murder."

Remus stopped, his mouth agape.

"He was murdered in the abandoned Underground," she explained, his fingers gripping her shawl. "There were two, I think."

"You saw his murder?" he asked—she could feel the dampness of his skin against the satin fabric. "How is that possible?"

Althea brought her hands to his chest. _Will you believe me_, she wondered, rolling a loose thread between her thumb and forefinger.

"It was Voldemort."

Remus paled. "Voldemort?" he repeated, his fingers trembling against her skin. "It's true, then?"

Althea nodded and curled herself into his arms.

"I thought Padfoot mad," Remus whispered, his palm stroking her spine. "An Inferius possessed by Voldemort?"

"Yes—"

"I hadn't witnessed him so shaken…not since that night…" Remus gently secured his embrace of Althea.

Althea sniffed. Remus smelled of soot, his library, and peppermint. "My mother's death," she began, focusing upon the stubble on his chin, "I'd cast it out, but I remembered it…all of it. Remus, he murdered my mother, personally…. He knew I was in the cupboard, he told me so…regretted what I'd become."

"You've spoken with Dumbledore?"

"Of course," she murmured, "but the tournament will continue—"

"Continue?" he questioned, pulling away from her.

Althea nodded.

"It is the perfect opportunity—"

"I know," she sighed and furrowed her brow at the buttons upon his robes. "Peter is helping him…it's the only way—it wasn't like this before—"

"We must keep you safe," he said, lifting her chin.

"Not you as well—"

"How can I not? Twice you have been singled out—"

"And twice they've failed," she said, removing his hand. "Prudence," she began, curling and extending his fingers, "Prudence is my priority…I must keep her safe."

Remus let out a low, lingering sigh. He seemed to have anticipated such a conversation. Might he have had a similar conversation with Sirius? His appearance bore the faintest wince.

"I know what you did—well, you and Gran," she began, gently flicking a loose button upon his robes. "Misleading them by magic. "

Remus was quiet.

"Memory Charms upon Muggles," she added and clicked her teeth.

Althea slipped her fingers beneath his frayed collar. Remus straightened at her touch. She felt the metal chain warmed by skin and lifted it, exposing the tattered silver locket with the Lupin family crest to the moonlight. She pressed its clasp and heard Remus hold his breath. The photograph had not changed. The young Remus sat beside Althea, who held the infant Prudence.

"Sirius would hex you if he knew you wore this."

Remus slid his fingers underneath Althea's hand and grasped the locket, closing it. His look defiant.

"Will you protect her?"

"I love her."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading. Please do not hesitate to leave a comment or review. I am so sorry it's been so long for an update.


	8. Northfield Chapel, June 1995

**Northfield Chapel, June 1995**

_The lilting music of the jazz orchestra played lowly upon the Wizard's Wireless. Cab Crosbie, with his smooth baritone, lulled the mother and infant into a peaceful twilight. The large fire glowed orange and yellow, lending a comforting atmosphere to the secluded cabin. Above the fire, boughs of evergreen and holly hung along the mantle. _

_ "Happy Christmas, my little one," Althea whispered and kissed Prudence's forehead—it was warm and soft, and she could smell the faint fragrance of the baby shampoo. "How I could ever—"_

_ Althea paused; the sob so quick to loose itself from her in the last months was caught in her throat. She adjusted the pink blanket below Prudence's chin. _

_ "I will spend my lifetime to make it up to you," she whispered, holding the docile infant closely to her. "I promise you." _

_Althea closed her eyes. She did not disengage Prudence's petite fingers that had curled themselves around Althea's long curls. It was a tug that she did not want to forget. Her toes pushed her backward and the chair creaked beneath them, and soon, she was in a steady rhythm. _

_ "That we shall have many Christmases such as this," she whispered. _

_ But the words felt hollow as the wind whipped about the clapboards. What Christmas did little Harry have? Would there be laughter? Her memory returned to the last Christmas: of Dorcas's booming laughter as she told her tale of escape from a paramour's window to James and Lily, and Althea's_ _observation of a godfather stealing away a few moments with his godson. _I don't understand_, she thought,_ _the tears burning the corners of her eyes. Was it the noble thing? Was it the brave thing? How could—Althea's eyes snapped open and she threw her head against the rocking chair. It was no good to dwell. She gently curled a lock of Prudence's hair around her forefinger in an attempt to suppress the thought of Sirius in Azkaban on Christmas. _

_ "I'll go mad—"_

_ Althea noticed the Wireless had stopped. The small room was filled with an eerie stillness—even the fire had taken a sinister sound. The fine hairs upon Althea's nape sat to attention, and in response she clutched Prudence protectively. Her hand dove into her wand pocket and, upon securing her wand, she quickly muttered Protective Spells…but they were of no use. A flash of purple light illuminated the door and burst it from its hinges. Althea leapt from the chair—it rocking violently behind her and clipping her heel. She disregarded the sting and did not hesitate to shout Defensive Spells. Would it give her time to escape? Prudence, startled, began to cry. Her cries were met with a maddening cackle, at which Althea's resolve faltered. She was a corpse—the grayed and thinned prison robes hung loosely against her sallow skin. Her limp, oily hair—very much still black—slithered in the howling, snowy wind. _

_ "My dear ickle cousin thought he could save you," Bellatrix cooed, her wand pointed at the pair. "No matter what you do, Muckblood, the filth dies." _

_ Althea swallowed to drive the hardened lump down her throat. What reasoning or pleading could she attempt with such a bloodthirsty bitch? She would murder Prudence first; Bellatrix would delight in Althea's anguish and allow Althea's death to linger. It was better to make it quick, to attack her and force a hasty death…or, if by luck, an escape. Althea shouted—her throat burning from the powerful sound—and a blue light erupted about Bellatrix. Althea did not wait for Bellatrix to land. Knocking into tables and chairs, she ran from the room, through the darkened cabin (casting haphazard Protective Spells behind her) and into the snowy night. Her feet shod in silk slippers, she made her way into the vast snow-covered field—the crisp white drifts shone in the moonlight and seemed insurmountable. Nevertheless, she trudged forward—her toes numb and her calves burned within the snow. A jet of red light soared above her head and she ducked, clutching the infant against her breast. _Come on_, she thought, barely able to catch her breath in the cold, _who is to help you now_? She was almost at the edge of the clearing. The darkened firs loomed before her, which cast ominous shadows against such pure white. If she could get to the woods, she might have a chance—_

_ "You would rather run than beg?" Bellatrix shouted, and suddenly, the hideous woman appeared before Althea. _

_ Althea fell back into the snow. Her lungs ached with each breath of the cold air. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Bellatrix raised her wand. _

_"How…_Muggle_." _

_ Suddenly, Bellatrix vanished in a black mist. The snow gave way to grass and the distant clearing dissolved into familiar grounds. Althea gasped—her arms were empty. _

_"Prudence!" she croaked, her hands pulling at her school robes. _

_School robes? Her broom, in pieces, was scattered about her. She wildly looked about the vacant Hogwarts grounds. _

_Althea shouted once more, "Prudence!" _

_A _whoosh_ above her head interrupted the silence of the Hogwarts grounds. Althea caught her breath and became quite still. If she didn't move—_

_A long, thin branch of the Whomping Willow landed within inches of her left hand, creating an audible _crack_. Althea lurched forward and rolled out of its way. Another branch whipped against her right leg, and Althea yelped at the sharp rope-like sting. The tree swayed and convulsed at her presence; it's cord-like branches whipped at her flesh as she endeavored to tumble away. _

"_Morrigan!" _

_Althea let out a cry of relief at the familiar voice. _

_The tree quieted. The sound of Althea's panting met those deliberate, casual footsteps against the grass. Her eyes traveled up that pleasing form in a Gryffindor uniform to his face worn from Azkaban. He kneeled before her and offered his hand. _

"_What's all this?" Sirius laughed as he pulled Althea up. He cast a wary look at the Whomping Willow as he led her away. _

"_Bellatrix—"_

"_Is far from here, I can assure you," he said, placing his hand upon the small of her back and guided her toward Hogwarts. "Maybe we should visit Madam Pomfrey—"_

"_No," Althea said, pulling away from him. "Prudence—"_

"_Who?" _

"_Prudence," Althea began, grasping his robes, "our daughter—"_

_Sirius let out a bark-like laugh. "Our _what_?" _

"_Our daughter," she said shortly, tugging at his robes for emphasis. "Bellatrix—Bellatrix was chasing me and I—I lost her. Oh God, Sirius! Our baby!" _

_Sirius laughing, gently pried Althea's fingers from him. "Good God, Morrigan, I've only just kissed you. I think we should visit Madam Pomfrey—"_

"_Why won't you help me?" she sobbed. _

"_I _am_!" he said tersely, shaking her. _

"_Althea!" _

_At the voice, Althea turned her head toward the courtyard. She let go of Sirius. There, among the blooming rosebushes, stood a woman in indigo robes holding a wrapped bundle to her bosom. She was striking, and with a stately grace about her. Her thick brown hair fell into an easy wave to her waist. _

"_Miriam," Althea whispered—her heart leapt in her chest. She ran toward the woman—Althea's robes transforming into the thick wool robes of her Carpathian exile. "Miriam!" _

_The woman smiled, biting her lower lip, and shook her head. _

_The woman appeared younger than Althea. Her features were familiar, comforting, but with deliberate mistakes. Her dark blue eyes seemed omniscient. She gently lifted the bundle from her breast and presented it to Althea. _

"_She is safe," the woman said, as Althea took the sleeping Prudence in her arms. Althea noticed the similar mark upon the woman's wrist…._

Althea's eyes fluttered open in the darkness and remained unfocused for a few moments. Her mind, still in that twilight fog, hovered over the pieces still revealed to her in her dreamlike condition. _Do what my father had done? Would that truly protect her_? Althea sat up from the wooden pew—her joints aching in sync with the creaking pew—and reached for her silver pocket watch. The mother of pearl dial displayed that it was two-thirty in the morning. Only moonlight illuminated the immense high ceilings and repeated stone arches and columns, which cast long shadows on the objects below. The expressions upon the statues were sinister. Althea raised her wand, and the intricate brass lamps above and hundreds of white candles at the altar flickered to light.

"Better," she whispered, pleased at the warm glow against the Gothic masonry.

Northfield chapel was the oldest structure at Northfield. Built in the sixteenth century, it bore changing allegiances both magic and Muggle. It stubbornly withstood the fire that destroyed most of the manor house during the Civil War. Through the Restoration and revolutions Glorious and Industrial, the Morrigans—like the chapel—not only endured but thrived. Generals, parliamentarians, and industrialists sought adventure and fame—their zenith was Northfield Hall, with its rolling acres of natural, romantic beauty. The chapel's imposing architecture and dazzlingly rich stained glass evoked pride for generations of Morrigans. But now, only one true Morrigan remained.

"I am to be the last," she said, slowing turning in the center aisle—her face upturned toward the ceiling.

It had been fourteen years since Althea had held such a vigil. Sirius had returned to her then—broken and covered in filth and blood. They had made love upon that very spot—the light dazzled in her eyes—Sirius's face soft and loving. He returned to her. He always returned. She saw it once more through Sirius's eyes. The love and relief she had felt at that memory were contorted with his—suppression of horror. She, at that moment, was his vessel to forget the war.

The sound of heeled boots striking the stone floor echoed throughout the chapel. Althea quickly turned to face her intruder, but let out a gasp of relief. Sirius, his hands in his robe pockets, walked toward her with an unwavering gait. Had he spent these many hours contemplating their shared memories? A charm once used to share grief between two relatively innocent girls was a disturbing reminder between two lives fettered by betrayal.

"How did you know I was here?"

Sirius shrugged, stopping a few feet before her. "Location Charms," he answered, avoiding her gaze. "Northfield is vulnerable."

He had contemplated her memories. _Do you understand me now, Black_, she thought, stepping toward Sirius. _My sorrow? My love_?

"Why did you?"

Sirius furrowed his brow; his eyes still avoided her.

"Why did you cast that charm?" she repeated and craned her neck to be in his view.

"I wanted to understand."

"It was reckless, Sirius. Our lives—"

"What I feel…" he began and paused, chewing his bottom lip, "it's never good enough, is it?"

Althea blinked.

Sirius's nostrils flared slightly and he removed his hands from his pockets. He paced before her—his hand combing through his unkempt hair.

"I'm selfish," he spoke—as if to himself—as he continued to pace. "How can I not be? For twelve years—_twelve years_ I thought you dead…thought our daughter dead. I can't—I won't lose you again."

Althea remained motionless as Sirius continued his somber agitation.

"I won't live as before," he said and abruptly stopped pacing. "My words are meaningless. Despite what I say, what I do, it's never enough." His hands trembling, he swallowed. "I would die for you without hesitation…is that what it will take? For me to sacrifice myself?"

"No."

"Why me? Why love me, Althea?"

Moved by his mournful expression, Althea brought Sirius into her embrace. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his.

"I love you," he whispered, and placed his hand upon the back of her head, his fingers intertwining with her thick curls. "You must have felt it, didn't you?"

Althea nodded.

"Ah, but I took you for granted—don't you dare argue, I did. I took advantage of your love. I shouldn't have expected—" Sirius paused and sighed. "I chose Azkaban because I was a coward…because I couldn't face you—what I'd done to you."

Small, stinging tears clung to her eyelashes.

"You carried my child," he said, placing his hand upon her abdomen. The muscles of Althea's abdomen tightened at his touch. The warmth of his palm radiated through her silk robes. "I'd wake at night and I could feel her. That you would—it scared me to death—that you would carry my child…and I left you, abandoned you—"

"You thought me dead," she whispered hoarsely.

Sirius gently shook his head. "I should've done more—"

"You were mad—"

"I should've searched Northfield," he said, lifting his forehead from hers. "I should've been at your side—not Remus, not Gran—_me_. I should've carried out my promise—" He sniffed—his eyes wet. "She's the best thing I've ever done." Sirius smiled and placed his palm to his chest. "She is my blood."

Althea wiped the tears trickling upon his cheeks with her thumbs. "Will you protect her?" she asked through her own tears.

Sirius nodded. "I would die for her," he said and kissed Althea's forehead. "I held so much anger against you. I couldn't understand what you had done…it was my pride," he explained and took her hands in his. "I realized the moment I saw her on those steps at Northfield."

"She's changed you for the better," Althea said and pressed Sirius's hands. "Both of us."

Sirius slipped his hand into his robe pocket. "I've all her letters," he said, taking out a well-worn stack of envelopes. "And I've answered each one."

From his robe pocket, he removed another stack of neatly tied envelopes. He handed the stack to Althea. Althea looked upon his script: _To my dear Pip_. She let her tears escape at the unfairness.

"We might never see her again."

Althea quickly looked up.

"She can't stay at Hogwarts," he said with some hesitation—his look wary. "They know she's alive."

Althea nodded. "The distance will protect her."

"You're willing to do this?" he said, resting his palms upon her shoulders.

"Are you?"

Sirius reluctantly nodded. "I fought that Prudence would never experience what is to come," he said, hooking a curl behind her ear. "I have to finish it."

"I want her to remember us."

"Of course," he said, tenderly squeezing her shoulders.

Althea succumbed to Sirius's embrace. The two held one another in an uneasy silence. _So little time_, she thought as Sirius inhaled deeply. His shoulder was so thin.

"Don't Obliviate me and send me off to Bermuda."

"I wouldn't think of it," he whispered and kissed her cheek.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading. I'm so very sorry it's been so long for an update.


	9. The Third Task, June 1995

**The Third Task, June 1995**

The two seventh years, Elfrida Huxley and Susanne Vox, chatted excitedly about Cedric Diggory's hair. It was one of a number of banal conversations that Althea half-listened to while she stared at the darkened maze below. For the last Task, the Quidditch pitch was transformed into a vast and intricate maze. Althea was unsure of what beasts or enchantments lurked within its walls for, as the Muggle Studies professor, such knowledge was deemed unnecessary. '_I reckon programming a VCR does not a Triwizard Champion make,_' she teased bitterly during the last staff meeting. Now, Harry Potter was within that maze and, despite Dumbledore's assurances of the children's safety and Moody's personal vow to Althea, an uneasiness rested within her stomach. _If anything happens to that boy_, she thought, the compact mirror hidden within her robe pocket vibrated against her thigh. It was Sirius's reminder that he was ever present. Sirius, in disguise, had planned to sit with Althea, but the pleasant late spring evening had tripled the crowd. Instead, the giant black dog sat dejectedly in the pumpkin patch by Hagrid's hut waiting for any news.

"I like that it's windswept—"

_Bzzt…bzzt…_

"Let's take this quiz: 'Is He a Wizard, Wolf, or a Troll'—"

_Bzzt…bzzt…_

_ They're always trolls_, she thought. _If only I had taken such a _Witch Weekly_ quiz, I could've have been spared years of heartache_.

_Bzzt…bzzt_.

Althea narrowed her eyes near the center of the maze. A puff of white smoke!

_Bzzt…Bzzt…_

_Come on_, she thought, slowly clenching her fists. _Come on, Harry—really, Sirius_! Althea placed her palm over the vibrating compact. She couldn't very well open the compact mirror within the crowd. Yes, the festivities and conversations distracted most, but to take such a chance with Ministry Officials (and Cornelius Fudge!) in attendance would have been foolhardy indeed. She very much enjoyed her life outside Azkaban. Still, Sirius was persistent. Feigning a sheepish smile, Althea made her apologizes and excuses as she slipped past the eager spectators. She hurriedly descended the steps and hid herself beneath the shadow of the stands. She reached first for her wand and cast Concealment Charms.

"Right," she muttered, grasping the vibrating compact. "What?"

Sirius' snout came into view.

"It's a bloody boring maze, my love," she explained and thrust the compact through two wooden beams toward the pitch. "I'll fly about for a better view."

Sirius barked his approval.

Althea shoved the compact in her robe pocket and transformed into an inconspicuous raven. _Oh, that I would have such a useful shape_, she thought, pleased with herself, and soared high above the maze. Althea slowed and peered into the maze. It was dark except for a few flashes of light. _I can't see any of them_, she thought, flapping her wings. Disappointed at her current vantage she sought to fly lower, but suddenly, a blue jet of light clipped her left wing, singeing a flight feather. _No more of this_, she thought and dashed to a higher altitude. However, a gold flash obstructed her flight path and dazzled her eyes. Every way Althea seemed to fly another jet of light exploded before her. She soon realized that it wasn't some rouge spell, but someone was actively attempting to shoot her down from the sky. Althea swooped and evaded each curse and dove toward the ground—her hands slammed against the muddy earth.

"I will stun—whoever is—doing that," she breathed.

Panting, Althea lifted her head. About twenty feet away, Moody stood above a crumpled heap upon the ground.

Althea blinked. "Berenice?" she asked, and quickly got to her feet. She ran to her friend and fell to her side. "Berenice!" she said, shaking her. "Berenice!"

Professor Sinistra was unconscious.

"What—what happened?" she asked, assessing her friend. No blood or burn marks. A Stunning Spell. "Did you see what happened, Moody?"

Moody did not seem too concerned. "Rogue spell, Althea," he said and sniffed. "Best be careful."

"_Rennervate_," Althea said and smiled when Sinistra slowly blinked. "Here, let me help," she said, offering her hand to her friend.

She slowly sat up and brought her right palm to her temple.

"How do you feel?"

Sinistra groaned. "Hungover," she said and closed one eye.

"Come on," she said and helped Sinistra to stand. "To the Hospital Wing."

Althea slipped Sinistra's arm over her shoulder. A rogue spell had felled her friend and Althea narrowly avoided a flurry of curses. She inhaled quickly through her teeth at the searing pain to her left hand. She eyed the back of her hand—large tense blisters filled with straw-colored fluid covered her swollen fingers. _Sirius never has to know_, she thought and looked over her shoulder. Moody was gone.

Madam Pomfrey muttered that she was much prepared for Triwizard Champions and, despite Sinistra's protests that she was improved and such care unwarranted, for the spectator accosted by a stray spell. Meanwhile, Althea slipped into the Apothecary and cast the necessary charms to heal her burns. Admiring her work by flexing and extending her fingers, she slowly walked among the neatly arranged jars and colorful vials of potions and salves. Out of the periphery, her vision alighted upon a small pink box. Althea abruptly stopped. _Merlin, I reckon I'm not the only one_, she thought, eying the box of _Madam Poppy's Pregnancy Patch_. She picked up the box and turned it over in her hand. That such a box could hold both joy and terror.

"Don't get your hopes up, Morrigan," she muttered, gently easing open the flap.

A patch slipped from the box into her palm. She wondered if Madam Pomfrey counted them. She swallowed and returned the patch to the box.

"Just nerves," she muttered, placing the box upon the shelf.

_Stress…I was tortured by Voldemort…Prudence is marked for death and Sirius insists upon living in a cave. Good God to think a child—_

Althea hastily left the Apothecary and joined Sinistra at her bedside. Sinistra did not look up from her cup of tea when Althea sat in the creaky chair next to her. Sinistra's nails nervously tapped the china and she gently chewed her bottom lip.

Althea took the cup of tea without protest from Sinistra. "Do you remember what happened?" she asked, placing the cup on the side table.

Sinistra's eyes shifted about the room and, once satisfied they were alone, spoke quietly, "Moody."

Althea furrowed her brow. "Moody?"

She nodded. "Moody."

Althea leaned forward. "Moody found you—"

Sinistra shook her head.

Althea repeated once more, "Moody found you—"

"No, Althea," she countered quietly. "He didn't."

"He stunned you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes it was him."

"Are you sure?"

She sighed, picking at the blanket. "Yes."

Althea smoothed a curl from her face and sat back in her chair. "I don't—it's not possible," she said, shaking her head. "I know Moody—"

"He stunned me."

"He wouldn't—"

"It was Moody, Althea, I'm sure of it."

"He would never—"

"He _stunned_ me, Althea!" she shouted, slamming her fists against the mattress. "I saw him, wand pointed at me!" she continued, pointing to her chest. "What was I to do? He's an Auror—so quick!"

Althea shook her head with disbelief. "Moody would never raise his wand to you…or to anyone," she said, despite the glowing pink in her friend's cheeks. "It might've been a rogue spell—"

"Believe what you like," she said, folding her arms, "but I know what I saw…what I felt. I might teach Astronomy, but I'm not stupid or useless—"

Sinistra's words stirred within Althea. Stupid. Useless. Words used to describe her profession…to describe Althea. Useless. '_No one would miss Muggle Studies_,' she remembered to have said to Sirius while in Bermuda when she seriously considered her resignation. If it were not for Dumbledore, she was a professor oft overlooked. Expendable. Feeble. Expendable, feeble Professor Morrigan so forgotten that only by luck did she escape a frostbitten death the night of the Yule Ball.

"'It's not good to be alone,'" she murmured Moody's last words to her of that night.

"What?"

Althea ignored her friend. Moody had investigated the series of events that night as well. He was unable to determine how Althea managed to be found beneath the Whomping Willow. He might have been old, but Mad-Eye Moody was a meticulous and capable Auror. So meticulous that he would not have forgotten—after thirteen years—to send flowers to Althea on what he believed would have been Prudence's birthday. Trustworthy and dependable. Dependable enough not to miss the Welcoming Feast despite the attack upon his house the night before. Althea gasped—her eyes widened. It was just too—

"If Sirius is clever enough…" she muttered, slowly rising from the chair.

"It's Sirius Black?" Sinistra asked, quickly sitting up.

Althea vigorously shook her head. "No, no," she replied for Sinistra had covered her mouth with a trembling hand, "he'd rather shag you than stun you."

Sinistra gave Althea a peculiar look.

"It's perfect," she continued, and Sinistra opened her mouth to speak, but Althea spoke first, "for no one would suspect—_I didn't_—but those little things—"

"What are you getting at?"

"It's _not _Moody," she said and pointed toward the window. "_He's_ not Moody!"

"He's not Moody?"

"Patronus be damned!" she muttered, reaching for her wand. She focused her mind on her first Christmas morning with Sirius and Prudence. "_Expecto Patronum_!"

A thin wisp of silvery smoke coalesced into the shape of a large dog—a grim. Sinistra let out a laugh of surprise.

"Go to Dumbledore," she said to the silver dog. "Tell him, 'That man is _not _Mad-Eye Moody!'"

The dog bounded toward the window and vanished. Casting a wary look at the bemused Sinistra, Althea pressed the small button upon her compact. It clicked open and Sirius's pale, concerned face came into view.

"What? Why did you transform?" she asked sharply, shaking the compact.

"I'm in Dumbledore's office," he explained with an audible tremble. "What happened?"

"He's not Moody!" she blurted. "That man—this whole time—I didn't receive flowers on Prudence's birthday!"

Sirius blinked.

"He just _stunned_ Berenice!" she exclaimed and pointed the compact toward Sinistra.

Sinistra—wide-eyed—pushed her back into the headboard. "Si—"

"He almost stunned me!"

"Althea—Althea, _alert Dumbledore_," he said firmly.

"I have."

"Good. Where are you?"

"The Hospital Wing."

Sinistra yelped.

"I'll come to you—"

"No—no! Stay in Dumbledore's office," she pleaded and closed the compact.

Althea looked to Sinistra, who stared open-mouthed at the Muggle Studies professor.

"You know my little secret," she said and weakly smiled.

"Little?" she gulped, rising higher in the bed. She nervously twisted the bedclothes. "He's—_you_—"

"We'll discuss this later," she said abruptly, backing away, "I promise you, but now I _must_ find Dumbledore—"

"It really is true, then? I thought Snape—"

"_Don't_ breathe a word of this to anyone," she warned, pointing her finger at the Astronomy professor.

Sinistra shook her head. "I won't."

Althea rushed toward the door and, as she put her hand upon the doorknob, said, "He had a flying Muggle motorbike!"

Althea flew the empty corridors and up moving staircases toward Dumbledore's office. _How could we've been so stupid_, she wondered as she flew past her classroom. _Who could it be_? She thought of Pettigrew and almost flew into a poleaxe. _I'll kill him_, she thought, flying at a faster speed. _I'll have him confess to Fudge and then I'll kill him_—

The door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office was blown apart. Althea swooped to the ground and transformed—her wand at the ready. Her eyes first settled upon Minerva McGonagall's stern countenance and her outstretched arm. Althea eyes followed the tip of the wand to a form bound with multiple ropes. Fair and young, and in ill-fitting clothes, sat the imposter.

"Barty Crouch," Althea breathed, stepping closer.

He rolled his head to face her. "What the Dark Lord has in store for you," he said and inhaled. "Last week was just a taste."

"_Althea_," McGonagall warned.

"Wormtail is useless and you'll beg for me to kill you," she said as Crouch eyed her wand.

He laughed. "It was such a pleasure teaching that filthy little bastard the Dark Arts," he said. "She was apt pupil—"

Althea roughly grasped his collar—her face within inches of his. She realized McGonagall was not intervening. Her eyes widened with a gleeful, murderous stare.

"Where is your Dark Lord now, hmm?" she teased, her fingers tightened their grip upon the fabric. "Left you to rot, didn't he? Like that corpse on the heath."

"The Dark Lord—"

"_Isn't here_ _to save you_," she said through gritted teeth.

"Then I will die!"

"Oh, I'm not about to let that happen," she murmured, lifting his chin with the tip of her wand. "You have to know what's meant for those who escape Azkaban?" She smiled cruelly. "Your daddy's law."

Crouch was defiantly silent.

"I heard you wept for your mum that first night," she whispered and rested her cheek against his. "I wonder who you'll shout for when the dementor lowers its hood—"

A violent wave of nausea enveloped Althea's body. She shuddered at the sensation and quickly parted from Barty Crouch. Grasping her stomach, she returned to McGonagall's side.

"Are you all right?" McGonagall asked.

Althea nodded—an uneasy, damp chill had entered her bones.

"This—this is unprecedented!" she heard Cornelius Fudge bellow from the hallway. "In Hogwarts no less! What is Dumbledore—"

The remaining warmth was extinguished. Althea, dizzy, could not move. She whimpered at the icy, rattling breath. _No_…

"Barty Crouch!" Fudge exclaimed.

McGonagall's scream was replaced with her own—pleading for the Death Eaters to spare her and her unborn child. How they laughed! _No_… Barty Crouch did not have time to plead or to cry out. Her cries grew louder. She could glimpse Sirius through the Fiendfyre…

* * *

><p>Althea groaned, resting her head against the cool porcelain. She absently reached for the lever to flush the contents of an empty stomach. When she woke from the office floor, Snape silently handed her a piece of chocolate. In a haze, she stumbled through the corridor—she was unsure how she entered the girls' lavatory of her own accord. The hair upon her nape stood on end. She was not alone<p>

"Pregnant again?" Moaning Myrtle asked.

Althea shook her head and groaned; she clasped her hands to her head to stop the spinning. "Dementors," she finally replied, resting her back against the stall door.

"Ooooh," Myrtle replied, hovering next to Althea. "Back for Sirius Black?"

Althea halfheartedly raised an eyebrow.

"I remember that boy," she said and smiled impishly. "Very clean."

Althea weakly smiled. _The Map wasn't for purposes of pure mischief_, she thought, as Myrtle continued to extol Sirius's bath time virtues, _it was to avoid her_.

"Oh, but what he did!" she said, her hands clenched in fists. "Look at him now! Good riddance!"

"Yes, he's a terrible bastard," she said flatly.

Althea went to stand; her hands slapped against the stall walls. She clapped her hand to her clammy forehead.

"You still look peaky," Myrtle said, picking at spot upon her chin. "You should go to the Hospital Wing."

Fiddling with the bathroom stall door handle, she replied, "I think I shall."

* * *

><p>Alastor Moody's hands were calloused and he was missing the tip of his fifth finger. Althea's hand felt lost within them. <em>How I ever could have believed<em>, she thought and sniffed. She was nineteen when she first met the Auror. James spoke of Moody's heroics—of a man with a gruff voice who didn't flinch at the Cruciatus Curse. The man she met in the surgery at St. Mungo's was very different. He was anxious and with the utmost concern for her apparent youth. Could she be trusted to heal him? Was she old enough to carry a wand? Althea disregarded his objections, healed him, and only broke the barrier of professionalism when Moody teased her that the lack of scar had made him too pretty.

Moody's eye fluttered open. "Althea?"

Althea nodded. "You're in the Hospital Wing," she explained, smoothing the uneven grey hair from his face. "It's over. Dumbledore knows."

Moody sighed and attempted to shift upon the bed.

Althea quietly shushed him. "Save your strength."

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely and Althea pressed his hand.

Althea became overwhelmed at the sight of her friend in such a state—disheveled, thin, and weakened from repeated curses. _And I laughed with the imposter_!

"I—I'm so sorry," she whispered and blinked—tears collected in the corners of her eyes. "I should have known—"

"I will have none of your tears," he said and Althea sniffed. "You're too pretty for such tears."

Althea tenderly kissed his hand. "Would you like a cup of tea? Another blanket?"

"No, no," he murmured and closed his eye. "I'll rest."

"Indeed," she said and tucked the blanket beneath his chin. "Goodnight."

As she was about to stand, Moody opened his eye. "You left Crouch for the Ministry, Derry?" he asked lowly.

Althea's stomach sank. "Yes, yes, of course," she muttered quickly.

Moody closed his eye. "Good."

* * *

><p>Althea stroked the soft curls from Prudence's forehead. Her nose still pink and swollen from her tears, she soundly slept upon Althea's bed. Upon returning to her quarters, Althea discovered Prudence—her face tear-stained—reclining upon the sofa. It was through Prudence's sobs that Althea learned the true awfulness of the night's events. Cedric Diggory was dead. <em>It was meant for Harry<em>, she thought, _I just know it_.

Althea's eyes grew heavy, but she dared not sleep. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory would be inconsolable. _I'd lost her once before…I couldn't imagine_— Althea leaned forward and kissed Prudence's cool forehead. The knot within Althea's stomach, present for some weeks, seemed to have grown exponentially within the last hours. _What are we to do_, she wondered, _keep you at Dunwell, never to be out of doors_? How could Althea and Sirius secure Prudence's safety? A Death Eater impersonating a professor, Sirius Black's repeated break-ins, and a monster with a penchant for enemies of Salazar Slytherin—it was absurd for Prudence to remain at Hogwarts. _I was selfish. I wanted to see you. I only thought of my happiness…of my pain_. Althea righted the amethyst ring upon Prudence's finger. _What I've done…what I will do…is for your sake and your sake alone_. Prudence's fate was Althea's happiness. If it required thousands of miles and an ocean between them, so be it.

At the flash of green light, Althea sat to attention. She lifted a finger to her lips to quiet Remus Lupin and pointed to the sleeping teenager beside her. Remus smiled pleasantly and nodded. Althea crawled from the bed and came to rest upon the squashy scarlet rug before the massive fireplace.

"Hello," she whispered, bringing her knees to her chest. "I've just gotten her to sleep."

The small crease between Remus's eyebrows betrayed his true feelings.

"This isn't a friendly chat, is it?" she asked, wary as Prudence turned over.

Remus shook his head. "May I?"

Immediately, Remus appeared in her fireplace and wiped the soot from his tattered robes. He helped Althea to stand and soon found himself in a fast embrace. The two parted at the sound of Sirius—who ducked from underneath the fireplace—clearing his throat. Althea gasped, throwing her arms around his neck.

Sirius sighed. "Come on, lovely," he whispered, his fingers running up and down her spine. "We must talk."

Althea guided both men to her small sitting room. Remus closed the ancient carved door behind him as Althea sat upon the grey sofa next to the pianoforte. Sirius, pale, paced the floor. Remus joined Althea upon a chair perpendicular to her. He wrested the turquoise pillow from behind him and placed it upon the floor. The three kept an uneasy silence except for silver Georgian clock upon the fireplace mantel.

"It was Barty Crouch," Althea said and Sirius stopped pacing. "After I spoke with you, I went to find Dumbledore, but found him instead," she continued, her fingers glided along the armrest. "I didn't have much time with him…Fudge saw to that."

Remus spoke, "Did he say anything to you?"

Althea shrugged. "The usual. I'm marked for something special."

Sirius appeared stricken.

"And Moody?" Remus asked.

"Sleeping," she answered as Sirius had stopped at the window. "Berenice left the Hospital Wing—she's recovered."

Remus let a small sigh escape. "Good…good," he murmured.

"Right, out with it," she demanded, slapping her palm against the sofa cushion. "You risked Ministry detection by using Floo."

Sirius clasped his trembling hands behind his back—he did not face her. "Voldemort is back, my love."

Althea frowned. "Well, we—"

"_No_," he said, clutching his hands tightly behind him, "not an Inferius, not through possession, a true body. _His_ body."

What felt like ice water washed over Althea's insides. She sharply inhaled a shallow breath—her nails dug into the soft fabric of the sofa. She stared ahead of her—her eyes seeming to lose their focus. Voldemort had returned.

"It is happening again," she said and swallowed the caustic liquid that had surfaced in her throat, "all of it."

The two men were silent.

"It's just as it was before," she said, absently rocking. "God, we're almost the same age!" She hastily looked from Remus to Sirius. "What do we tell her?"

"The truth," Sirius croaked.

"But what of her friends?" she asked. "The other children—Hogwarts—I am a schoolteacher—"

"They're not our concern," he said, abruptly turning on his heel, and before Althea could object added, "It is only a matter of time before the dementors rejoin him, and…" Sirius bit the inside of his cheek. He curled and extended the fingers upon his right hand—he was itching for a fight.

"We'll do our best," Remus assured, placing his hand upon hers. His own hand trembled.

"Let's not wake her," she said, her thumb stroked Remus's slender fingers. "At the weekend we'll tell her? It'll give us time, Sirius. I've yet to hear from the Headmistress—"

"I thought she was a dear friend of Gran's," he said sharply, but realized his tone. "I—I'm sorry," he murmured and collapsed next to her.

Suddenly, a glittering ball of golden flame erupted before them. Althea let out a gasp at the gorgeous sight. Out of the plume of golden fire, a single phoenix feather came to rest at their feet. Remus nodded to Sirius.

"It's time," Sirius said solemnly. He gently squeezed Althea's hand. "We must leave you."

"We'll return at the earliest," Remus said as he stood. "Give Prudence my love."

"Of course."

Sirius paused before he stood. He appeared almost as thin as the night she first saw him at Hogwarts. He wore the same robes and his hair was long and matted. He cupped her face within his hands. "I can't tell you it'll be okay," he whispered, his look as if to savor his last had returned.

Althea pulled him into a kiss. He smelled of Hippogriff, the musty earth, and Floo. "I know," she whispered, resting her forehead against his.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Thank you so much for reading! Please do not hesitate to leave a comment. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter.


	10. Hogwarts, Late June 1995

**Hogwarts, Late June 1995**

"I don't know your exam results," Althea said, her lips quivered to suppress an amused smile—Prudence huffed. "I'm sorry, that's privileged information."

Prudence wringed her hands and stepped before Althea. "But couldn't you—"

"_No_," she replied firmly, but gently. "I couldn't."

She stepped aside Prudence and continued along the dirt-covered path adjacent to the lake. Prudence, undeterred, opened her mouth to speak, but Althea shook her head. Prudence frowned. _I wish your only worries would be exams_, she thought, shifting the picnic basket from one hand to the other. The two lulled into an easy quiet—the only sounds between them were their shoes upon the gravel. Prudence, pensive, was still determined to know the marks of her exams. Althea noticed her eyes had narrowed for she was developing some kind of scheme.

"Do you think you did poorly?" Althea asked, admiring the long dark shadows the pines cast against the smooth water.

Prudence bit her bottom lip.

"Potions?"

Prudence shook her head. "I like Potions," she said quietly. "This year at least."

Althea blinked. "You _like_ Potions?" she replied and grasped the basket handle that had slipped from her grip. "I reckon don't tell your father," she muttered.

Prudence shrugged. "I brewed the best Swelling Solution," she explained. "He had to admit that," she continued and furrowed her brow. "No, it's—it's Transfiguration."

"Ah."

Prudence let out a great sigh. "I transfigured Romilda into a pig."

Althea stopped—the basket whacked against her shins. "You _what_?"

Prudence cringed.

"When did this happen?" she asked as Prudence rose and fell upon the balls of her feet. "_Prudence_?"

"Last week—"

"Why aren't you in detention?"

Prudence diverted her gaze to the ground and, in a voice barely audible, said, "Professor Moody took the blame."

"Moody?" Althea breathed, wide-eyed.

Prudence nodded. "McGonagall was so angry," she said, still refusing to look upon Althea. "She said that it was the second time he's done that this year…turned a student into an animal."

"But _you_ transfigured Romilda into a pig."

Prudence swallowed, nodding.

Althea took a step toward Prudence. "That man wasn't Professor Moody," she said in a low voice.

"I know," she whispered and bit her bottom lip.

"He was a Death Eater."

Prudence gasped—her eyes glistened with tears.

She wondered if Voldemort gave specific instructions to Barty Crouch to gain the confidence of Prudence. _My daughter is not a pawn_, she thought, slipping her hand into her robe pocket. How many more children had Barty Crouch sought to convert?

"You _don't_ want to owe a Death Eater," she said, her thumb upon the clasp of the compact.

Prudence grabbed Althea's wrist. "Don't tell dad."

"You're telling McGonagall."

Prudence whimpered.

Althea opened the compact. "Plans have changed."

"Why?" Sirius asked. "Is something the matter?"

Prudence gave Althea a begging look.

Althea faintly shook her head and Prudence groaned. "Our Prudence transfigured a student into a pig."

Sirius let out a bark-like laugh. "She _what_?" he laughed and tossed the long black hair from his face. "That's advanced magic—"

"The imposter Moody took the blame," she said over Sirius's gleeful pride.

Sirius quieted.

Prudence rolled a small pebble over with her shoe.

"Take her to McGonagall," he said, but shook his head. "Wait, Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore," Prudence murmured and winced.

"Right," Althea sighed, closing the compact.

* * *

><p>Prudence let out a mournful sigh as the two crossed the small footbridge. Althea knew the phrase, '<em>Badly done, Prudence<em>,' spoken by Remus—who happened to be visiting at that moment with Dumbledore—echoed within Prudence's mind. It would do more to curb her behavior than cleaning out the Owlery. Althea wrinkled her nose—it took days to remove all those feathers from her hair. Still…Dumbledore was lenient; quite possibly due to the information he received from Prudence.

"You were right to tell Dumbledore," Althea said as they made their way along the partially shaded path. "It took great courage."

Prudence stared ahead—the late afternoon sun highlighted the tears upon her cheek. Althea cast a sympathetic frown and took out her handkerchief. She gently wiped the tears from Prudence's cheeks.

"Don't let that—that Romilda girl get to you," Althea said, holding the handkerchief for Prudence to blow her nose. "You're a very clever girl, my darling, don't waste your magic on someone like that."

"But—"

"It isn't a fair fight, is it?" she said and cast a charm to clean the handkerchief. "_Dueling Club Champion_."

Prudence weakly smiled. "I haven't told dad," she said and reached into her pocket. She held up a blue and purple striped ribbon upon which a gold medal dangled. "You haven't told him, have you?"

Althea shook her head.

"Good," she said, thumbing the medal.

The two quieted at the rustling of the brush to their left. Suddenly, from out of the shadows Sirius appeared, smoothing the brambles from his robes. He was dressed very fine in navy robes designed by Afina. He was clean-shaven and his hair—though long—was combed and gathered into a queue.

Prudence rushed to Sirius. "Dad!" she cried happily, throwing her arms around his neck.

Sirius hoisted her into the air and swung her around—the two laughing.

"I've missed you!" he said and roughly kissed her cheek. "God I've missed you!"

"You read my letters," she said as Sirius carefully lowered her.

"Every one," he said, cupping her face with his hands. He playfully narrowed his eyes at her. "You're not allowed to grow," he continued, marveling at her. "It's very unfair."

Prudence removed his hands from her face. "I have to show you something," she said and reached into her pocket. "Here," she added and placed the crumpled award in his hand.

Sirius smiled, allowing the medal turn about as he held it before his eyes. "Dueling Club Champion," he breathed. "You used that hex I wrote about?"

Prudence beamed. "I didn't have to."

Sirius whistled. "No Swiftly for the first week you're home."

Prudence huffed.

"Take pride in your work," he said, handing her the award. "I would never have let _anyone_ take such credit…let alone a Death Eater."

Prudence let out a small growl.

Sirius smiled. "Hello, lovely," he murmured and kissed Althea's cheek.

"Well done," Althea murmured.

Sirius shrugged. "You look a bit peaky."

Althea hooked a curl behind her ear. "Nerves, I think," she replied as Sirius took the picnic basket.

"Roast chicken, Pumpkin Pasties, Butterbeer?" he asked eagerly and Althea nodded. He made a noise of triumph.

The two followed Sirius along the path deeper into the wood until they reached a small clearing. Underneath the shade of a large oak the two sat upon the fluffy blue blanket while Sirius cast Repelling Charms and Voice Obscuring Spells. It was a pleasant late afternoon lunch. Sirius greedily ate drumstick after drumstick between quizzing Prudence on her exam results and the latest Hogwarts gossip.

"Never you mind about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he said and tossed the drumstick toward the grass. "It won't be a vampire, I can assure you."

"You should teach it," Prudence said to Althea.

Althea shook her head. "Covering for Remus was enough for me," she said, reclining upon her elbows. "Who would replace me at Muggle Studies?"

"I'm sure Dumbledore would find your replacement in time," Sirius said, placing his palm upon Althea's calf.

Althea wrinkled her nose. "I would spend my summer up to my eyes developing new lesson plans and not enjoying Bermuda with you, love," she said as Sirius's cool fingertips glided over her skin.

"Bermuda?" Prudence grinned.

"Yes, we'll spend July and August," she said and Sirius retracted his hand. "Hours upon a beach—"

"I don't think it wise," Sirius interrupted.

Althea sat up. "What do you mean? It's Bermuda!"

"Not for almost two months—"

"The protections are still in place…" Althea stopped. Sirius's expression was grim. "My love, don't you dare," she whispered for Prudence not to hear. "_Don't_."

"I can't go," he said and Prudence strained to hear. "The Order—"

"Be damned," she said, her gaze unwavering from him. "_One week_, Sirius! It's all I ask. It's our last—"

"You—you're not going?"

The two quieted at Prudence's voice. Sirius refused to look at Prudence.

Prudence sat forward. "But I thought—I haven't seen you…"

Althea knew what was to come. _We can never take this back_. Prudence's idyllic life was about to end. Althea's father had kept her from the tribulations of war until her eventual matriculation at Hogwarts. Now she would seek a parallel decision for her daughter. _She will be forever changed_.

"I want to go," he said—his voice slightly strained—still refusing to look upon Prudence. "I want to be with you and your mom, but I…" Sirius gave a doleful sigh and shook his head.

"Dad?"

Althea slipped her hand within his.

Sirius affectionately pressed it. "I'm needed here, Pip," he said, his gaze meeting hers. "I have to protect you and this is the best way that I know."

Prudence frowned.

Althea reached for Prudence's hand. She brought Sirius's hand and Prudence's hand together within her own. _Forever changed_.

"Voldemort," she began, observing the soft, youthful nature of Prudence's hands, "is back."

Prudence caught her breath. Her lower lip began to tremble and tears freely fell from her cheeks. "No," she hiccoughed, shaking her head. "No."

"It's true," Sirius croaked. "What happened during the Final Task was not an accident, Pip. It was Voldemort."

"What's going to happen?" she squeaked, hungrily looking from Sirius to Althea. "I don't want to lose you!" she cried, collapsing into their arms. "I don't want to die! I don't want you to die!" she sobbed, her fingers kneading Althea's back. Prudence fell into a fit of sobs—her hot, moist breath warmed Althea's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," whispered Althea and she kissed Prudence's cheek.

"I should've done more…I fought to protect you from this," Sirius whispered, rocking Prudence. "I've failed you. I'm so sorry…forgive me…forgive me, please."

Prudence—her face purple from tears—pulled away.

"Hogwarts isn't safe for you," Althea said, wiping the wet ringlets from Prudence's face. "England isn't safe."

"They know my daughter lives," Sirius said, placing his hand upon her shoulder.

"You're giving me away again?" she asked in a very small voice.

Her words stabbed at Althea's heart. Sirius covered his face with a trembling hand and sniffed.

"We're doing nothing of the sort, my love," Althea said, bringing Prudence's hand to her cheek. "You are my daughter, _my child_. It is my duty to protect you," she added and kissed her fingers. "You're all I've got. All I'll ever have. I'm not going to lose this chance with you. I love you…_we_ love you."

"Dad, I'm scared."

Sirius lifted his head. His face bore the harshness of Azkaban. He held out his arms for his daughter, who then cuddled within them. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

"We were ready for this, and you are safe," he whispered and kissed her forehead. "Nothing will harm you, I promise you."

* * *

><p>Althea wrinkled her nose at the tiny black hairs that tickled her nose with each inspiration Sirius took. Her eyes drifted from the rise and fall of his thin chest to black sky, which glittered with thousands of stars and galaxies. Wrapped in blankets, the naked couple cuddled and reveled in the stillness of a late spring night. The Hogwarts roof. It was under similar circumstances that the two made love upon that spot nearly twenty years ago. The war and the fated, burning quality of such a love propelled the two youths to such a bold act. Now, with a similar uncertainty, the impetuous of youth gave way to nostalgic almost middle age. He would return to her—as he had done on so many nights—and she would ease his horror. She would heal him. Make love to him.<p>

Sirius stirred beneath her. He brought his hand to the back of her head, his fingers tracing small circles against her scalp. "Has Dumbledore asked you?"

"Asked what?"

"To join the Order?"

"No," she said, her fingertips leisurely glided along his side—his skin was very soft. "No, he hasn't."

Sirius sighed and kissed the top of her head. "Good…good."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading this story. I hope you've enjoyed another chapter. Thank you for all the messages and comments I have received.


	11. Hogwarts, Evening, Late June 1995

**Hogwarts, Evening, Late June 1995**

_The modest hills glowed orange under the early October sun. Althea delighted in the clear blue sky—a perfect sky for flight. At the sound of a gruff call, a drummer began to beat a death march. A woman wept softly beside Althea. _

_ "Your music…is tolerably good," said a gentleman's voice to her left. _

_ Arm in arm between two Continental soldiers, a tall officer in scarlet regimentals approached. He was singularly beautiful. His perfectly powdered coal black hair was neatly tied into a queue and the gold buttons upon his vibrant coat gleamed in the sun. He appeared as if he were going to a ball and not to his death on the gibbet. Major John Dumont, the doomed lover of the 2__nd__ Earl Northfield's youngest daughter Althea Louisa, stopped before Althea. His soulful brown eyes met hers—she caught her breath. He smiled crookedly and politely bowed. A man betrayed in war. A youthful promise of love unfulfilled. _

_ "She never married," Althea said, cautious to keep her distance. "She died shortly after—the shock, I think." _

_ Dumont nodded. _

_ The handsome young officer and the mourning crowd faded into dust. The modest hills rose higher—a forest surrounded her. It was night. Althea absently rubbed the raven tattoo upon her wrist. A cool breeze caught a few ringlets, and soon, the tumbling wind pulled at the seams of her robes—the pieces of her garment swirled from her as she hovered above the ground. Naked, her arms outstretched, the tattoos once hidden now glowed red and gold. She winced, as it seemed the hot needle once more pierced her flesh. She grunted to lower her arms, but could not. A rolling fog rose from the ground and encompassed her. Out of this fog a solitary shadow appeared and stepped forward. A familiar smile. She seemed to float for her gait was effortless—her rich emerald robes billowed about her sandaled feet. Gold ribbons intertwined within her thick brown hair that fell to her waist. Althea noticed the raven tattoo upon her wrist when she placed her palm upon Althea's cheek. _

_ "Who are you?" Althea asked, intently staring into the woman's dark blue eyes. _

_ "Return to us," she whispered and kissed Althea's cheek… _

Althea opened her eyes. Her blurry vision focused on the small tattoo of a raven upon her wrist. She frowned—the Death Eaters knew of her disguise. How useful could she be? Her protection was gone. She sat up in her large chair behind her desk, and moaned pleasurably as she stretched—her hands clawed toward the ceiling. It was the evening before the last day of term. She smiled with satisfaction at the completed essays and exams at the corner of her desk. She massaged the small of her back and surveyed her messy desk. Her desk was covered in all things Morrigan and Northfield in preparation for the documentary about England's great houses.

"Such a waste," she murmured, peering at the self-portrait of Major John Dumont. She would visit his grave in London at her next visit.

Resting atop the yellowed, candid love letters written by Dumont to Althea Louisa was a single phoenix feather. Althea took the crimson feather into her hand. Dumbledore had asked her the question once before. She had refused him then…and would she now? _We were children_, she thought, stroking the warm feather. _The best and the brightest of our generation lost_. She was just eighteen and new in Healer Training. How could she fight? Her wand was meant to heal—not for hexes and duels…at least that was a portion of the answer she gave Dumbledore years before. She was Gran's last relative. She had Muggle obligations. Her life swam in the murky realm of Magic and Muggle. Dumbledore reluctantly accepted her excuses. However, to the Death Eaters, such excuses were irrelevant and Althea was hunted like those in the Order. Healing Muggles was a serious offense against Voldemort…only compounded by her love of Sirius, a most vocal blood traitor. She had survived torture. She had killed. They would hunt her again.

"They will kill me regardless," she said, twirling the feather in her hands.

How much running could one do?

"My fate is Sirius's."

* * *

><p>Althea's heels echoed across the cavernous room. The room was dark except for the candles suspended above the central table. She smiled nervously at the group gathered around an oblong table. The group—varied in occupation—quieted as she approached. <em>Muggle Studies, I know<em>, she thought, _but if you truly knew my past_… Those that recognized her stood. Sirius paled at the sight of her, and—arms folded—did not stand to greet her. _If you think you are to fight alone_, she thought, standing beside Sirius. She felt a jolt of adrenaline for she was conscious of those members that knew of their past. Her stomach continued to flutter at her public conduct. To sit alongside Sirius was to acknowledge their present.

"Here," Remus said pleasantly, pulling a chair out for her.

"Thank you," she murmured, taking a seat next to Sirius.

Sirius remained still, looking ahead.

Remus leaned for only her to hear, "You should be with Prudence."

Her smile faltered. _Not you as well_.

"You know what I'm capable of," she whispered through an uneasy smile.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, placing a hand upon her shoulder. "Think of her, will you?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

Althea turned and looked up at Remus. "I am."

A severe line appeared between his eyebrows—his eyes flickered toward Sirius.

There was a loud sigh. "What are you doing here?" Sirius asked sharply, leaning his chair upon its hind legs.

There was a collective harsh intake of breath among a few attendees.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, wary of the stares.

Sirius unfolded his arms. "Don't do this to me, lovely," he warned, massaging the bridge of his nose. "You promised—"

"I did no such thing—"

"On the roof!" he said, thrusting his hand toward the ceiling. "I asked you—"

"I hadn't gotten it yet."

Sirius growled.

"We'll talk later," she whispered, resting her hand upon his forearm. She gently squeezed his arm. "Sirius, please?"

Sirius's jaw tightened.

"We'll need a Healer, Sirius," Moody said, sitting across from the couple. "She's capable. Reattached a finger or two."

Althea, feeling an upsurge in gratitude, smiled at Moody. "Thank you."

Moody nodded.

Sirius folded his arms and tossed the long hair from his face.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the table. Althea smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt of her robes. _Were they expecting us to duel_, she wondered, surreptitiously raising her eyes. McGonagall appeared disappointed. _They would've learnt of Sirius's innocence recently_, she thought as Flitwick shifted upon his chair. Were they quick to accept him? Or did they still harbor unease at his presence? There had to have been a good reason it was quick to believe him a mass murderer. _It would've been a tremendous shock and now…it's not as if we're snogging on the Head Table_.

"How were exams?" Remus asked.

It was a trait he had inherited from his mother. Mrs. Lupin was able to diffuse many a tense situation with a clever observation or banal question to shift the conversation.

"All marked—"

"Ah," he began, raising his eyebrows in surprise, "well done."

"And Freddie?"

"I'll tell you later," he began and nodded toward the door, "Dumbledore is here."

Dumbledore entered the hall with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt behind him. Althea raised her eyebrow at the Weasleys, but caught herself doing so—it wasn't good to underestimate people. Still, she prayed Mr. Weasley would not corner her after the meeting to discuss his latest confiscated magically altered Muggle object. Kinglsey sat beside Mad-Eye across from Sirius and Althea. Althea focused on the grain of the wood table before her.

"Everyone," Dumbledore said and Althea finally lifted her head.

It was a small group. Outside of Hogwarts faculty, Althea recognized only a few members. She wondered what influence such a group would have upon the Wizarding community. Would Voldemort pick them off one by one? Maybe Remus was right…

"Althea," he began, looking over his half moon spectacles at Sirius, "welcome."

Sirius's chair slammed against the stone floor.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she replied, while Sirius slumped moodily in his chair.

"And Sirius," he began to ask, "what news have you?"

Sirius pushed himself up in his chair. His manner was insolent, defiant. _Good God, Sirius, not now_, she thought as Sirius eyed Dumbledore with contempt.

"They've met at Salisbury House," he said curtly.

Althea inhaled a sharp breath.

Remus plucked a loose thread from his robe sleeve.

"Twice at least," he continued. "Malfoy, Avery, the lot."

"Pity I allowed my membership to lapse," Elphias Doge wheezed.

Althea's heart thumped within her chest while the members murmured. It had been almost ten years since she saw Allegra White. It was at Gran's insistence. After all, _that woman_ (as Gran referred to her) had nurtured Althea's downfall. It was under her guidance that Althea met Apollyon Hare at the Gathering of the Seven celebration. Plied with drink and assurances that Althea would satisfy his most deviant sexual desires, he enthusiastically brought Althea to his home where she dispatched him with such murderous glee.

"Althea?"

Althea blinked and straightened. "Yes, Sir?"

"You are acquainted with Madam White, are you not?" Dumbledore asked.

The table looked upon her. The apples of her cheeks warmed. She hesitated.

She licked her dry lips. "It's been so—"

"Yes, her Healer, if I recall—"

Emmeline Vance raised an eyebrow.

Althea swallowed. "It's been so long," she said, aware of the nervous tremble in her hands. "Years since we've spoken—"

"You'll have much to talk about—"

"But—"

"I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you," he said and returned his attention to Sirius. "Thank you, Sirius. Anything else?"

Althea sat forward, facing Dumbledore. She inhaled deeply. "It wasn't amicable, Sir," she said, her gaze unwavering from him.

For a moment, Dumbledore studied her. Althea groaned internally at the awkward quiet.

"You will visit her," he said calmly, but firmly. "Now, Sirius—"

Althea reclined in her chair. She half listened to Sirius's clandestine exploits while she further contemplated her eventual meeting with Allegra. The mistress of Salisbury House would not be convinced to assist the Order of the Phoenix. Althea knew that Allegra preferred to be above the influence of the Ministry and a man such as Albus Dumbledore. She preferred her rules of perverted redemption and revenge. A Black Widow at the center of her intricate web. She exploited Althea's pain and nourished Althea's darkness. She fully understood what Althea had become and did not seek to stop her.

After an hour, Dumbledore adjourned the meeting. A few of the members quickly left, but most remained and clustered into small groups. Althea, satisfied that Sirius was occupied in conversation with Moody and Kingsley, quietly left the room. She walked the lonely corridors lit by torches toward the staircases. Suddenly, she heard hurried footsteps and panting behind her. She stopped and turned toward her follower. Remus had stopped and placed his hand upon his side.

His look grateful, he panted, "Sorry…full moon."

"Of course," she murmured and smiled sympathetically. "You've had Wolfsbane?"

Remus shook his head.

Althea frowned and bit her bottom lip, smoothing—in a very motherly way—a lock of light brown hair from his face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Remus took her hand and patted it. "Never mind that," he began and leaned close, "I didn't want to speak this before Sirius. He wouldn't—well—_understand_…Freddie would do well if he had more sleep."

"More sleep?"

Remus let go of her hand and clasped his hands behind his back. He appeared to have an amusing secret to tell.

"I've found the boy, asleep, beside the fireplace," he said, rocking back and forth upon his heels. "Not once, not twice, but _four_ times."

"Why—" Althea began, but let out a quiet laugh of surprise as Remus quickly raised and lowered his eyebrows. "Our Prudence?"

Remus, smiling, nodded.

"They're so very young."

"Indeed," he sighed, "too young to threaten."

Althea gave him a look.

"Being a werewolf has a certain usefulness," he explained and winked.

"The poor girl," she remarked and wrinkled her nose.

"Here," he said, offering his arm.

"Are Death Eaters to attack me in the corridors?" she asked, taking it.

"I just—I miss you," he said as the two descended the first staircase.

"You miss Hogwarts."

Remus' smile became bittersweet. "I do," he said, savoring all about him. "It was the closest I'd ever come to a normal boy…a normal man."

"I wish you could return," she said, pulling close to him. "Hogwarts wouldn't be so lonely."

"Would you like me to visit Allegra with you?"

Althea shook her head. "Thank you, but I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

Althea nodded. "It was Gran and not me who ended it," she said, the suits of armor that stood as sentries along the corridor dully gleamed in the firelight. "You remember what I was like after—well—you know…"

"Of course," he said.

The couple had arrived at the door to her quarters. Althea stood before her old friend. He was pensive. _Just say, 'Goodnight,' Remus and go_.

"Thank you," she said and kissed his cheek.

Remus clasped her hands and spoke, "Spare yourself from this."

"Don't—"

"No one would blame you—"

"I can't—"

"You've been through so much—"

"I can't, Remus," she insisted, but Remus would not let go. "_I can't_."

"I've thought it through," he said, pulling their clasped hands toward his chest. "Please, just—just listen…you don't have to separate yourself from Prudence," he continued with quiet, eager urgency. "I—I can be your Secret Keeper—"

"Secret Keeper?"

"_Yes_," he answered, his sweaty hands trembled with boldness. "You know what is to come, Althea—"

"And what of you? Of Sirius?"

Remus rested his forehead against hers. "_Please_."

"I won't," she whispered, letting go of his hands. "Why am I different? Why should I be spared?"

"Will you not consider it?" he asked, wounded.

Althea shook her head and opened the door. Before the fireplace, Prudence—wearing pink striped pajamas—slept facing the fire, her arm curled beneath her head. The two stood at Prudence's side and peered into the fire. Freddie soundly slept.

"Here," Remus whispered and knelt, "I've got her."

Remus collected Prudence into his arms and carried her to Althea's bed. He gingerly tucked the covers beneath her chin and swept the curls from her forehead. _Will you not consider it_, Althea thought, absently resting her hand upon her stomach.

"I should go," he said, still looking upon Prudence. Remus sighed regretfully. "It's very unfair."

Althea placed her palm upon his back.

"Goodnight, Althea," he whispered and kissed her temple.

Now alone, Althea carefully sat upon the bed. Prudence did not stir. _You're growing up too quickly_, she thought, and fought the urge to touch Prudence's cheek. _When will you stop confiding in me? When will you look to Afina or your friends? When will you think me silly_?

"Let us hope we have that time," she whispered and kissed Prudence's cheek.

Prudence smelled of Althea's perfume.

"Althea?" Sirius whispered.

Althea looked up. Sirius stood in the shadows in the far corner of her room. She held her forefinger to her lips. Sirius motioned toward her sitting room, and Althea nodded. _I pray the Silencing Charms are effective_, she thought, stroking Prudence's cheek. Althea stood and followed Sirius into her sitting room. Just as she shut the door, Sirius rounded upon her.

"We discussed this," he said, pointing his forefinger at her. "You were to have no part—"

"No," she said firmly and Sirius's eyes widened. Before he could speak she added, "What does it matter if I do or do not join? I will hunted, tortured, and killed regardless of my status with the Order—"

Sirius appeared as though he were to be sick.

"I teach Muggle Studies—"

"Yes," he said, stepping forward, "all the more—"

"He murdered my parents, my best friend—"

"—it would be _prudent_ for you to leave," Sirius finished, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His knuckles were white.

"And you as well," she said, "let us not forget that."

Sirius let out a growl of frustration. "I can't!" he replied, throwing up his arms. "You know I can't," he said, his voice breaking. Partially turning from her, he roughly ran his fingers through his hair. "Not when Harry…not when…"

"Neither can I," she replied, taking hold of his arm. "I'll make the tea."

Sirius cast her a dark look.

"Ignorance can't protect me," she said, coaxing his arm around her waist. "Anyway, who will heal you?"

"I want you far from here," he begged—his voice strained, "_please_."

Althea shook her head. "I won't beg for my life again when they find me."

Sirius sniffed and blinked rapidly—his eyes wet. "Think of Frank and Alice…James and Lily…your membership—it would complicate—"

Althea's stomach dropped at the sight of small tears trickling down Sirius's cheeks.

"I won't lose you—"

"I love you," she said, her gaze unwavering from his begging look. "That's enough for them, Sirius."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading!


	12. Hogwarts, End of Term, Late June 1995

**Hogwarts, End of Term, Late June 1995**

_It is blue_, she thought, her thumb massaged the small blue patch. _My God it's blue_! Althea tossed the patch upon her desk and held her face to her hands. She groaned. _Voldemort is back, Sirius is a fugitive, and they seek to hunt and kill our daughter_… She laughed in spite of herself.

"Maybe you'll blow up Death Eaters instead of wirelesses," she whispered, placing her hand upon her abdomen. She swallowed hard.

According to the parchment before her, the small black dot of Professor Althea Morrigan sat alone behind the outline of her desk. Similar black dots milled about outside her office and in the corridors and upon the staircases. Mrs. Norris was about to catch the Weasley twins.

"Odious cat," she murmured.

Beyond the inked walls Prudence and her friends rested by the lake. It was all in place. In September, Prudence would start the new school year at the Western Reserve Academy of Witchcraft. Nestled along the southern shore of Lake Erie, Althea hoped such distance would protect Prudence. She would have preferred Salem and the proximity to Afina, but they could not take that chance of even the remotest detection. Letters, packages, and Floo would cease between them. _Would you find such a spot at your new school_, she wondered, imagining the smiling Prudence with sunlight upon her face. Was her smile bittersweet? The teenager accepted her fate with quiet submission. No sobs or heated words or frenzied bargaining did Prudence exhibit. Such a resigned attitude was sobering, but Althea still wondered if her quietness shielded her scheming. Would Prudence seek to run away? Was such deception for her safety too much for the girl? To once again leave all that is known while her friends stay at Hogwarts in ignorance? Would such measures truly protect Prudence? How much time before her discovery?

Althea's stomach quaked with unease. Her eyes focused on the moving black dots, and one dot—rounding the corner about to walk along her corridor—caught her eye. It was under Dumbledore's orders that Althea, with McGonagall, cleaned the imposter's office. In the second drawer of his desk, beneath old _Prophets_ questioning Barty Crouch Sr.'s whereabouts, Althea discovered the folded parchment and let out a vehement curse at four stupid boys that failed to protect the map from the Dark Arts. She should have destroyed it, and when Dumbledore asked her if she found such a map in his office she had lied. Remus had spent the morning enchanting the map with protections against the Dark Arts—the two believed that any help Harry could have in the upcoming maelstrom should be given…even in defiance of Dumbledore (Althea omitted that Dumbledore had requested that map). It was Remus who insisted that Althea should return the map to Harry. Despite her protests and mortification, Remus with firmness deflected every objection and demanded Althea to comply with his request. She was, after all, Sirius Black's best girl.

Now his godson was about to cross her door. Althea's heart beat wildly in her chest. Lightheaded, she attempted to inhale a breath—her skin gooseflesh. What was she to say to the boy? She might have mustered a nod or murmured a hello since his first year—she was unsure. How was she to introduce herself? Of course, she taught Muggle Studies, but how did she come across that map? How did she know to give it to him? _I don't think, 'I changed your nappies,' or 'I'm having it off with your godfather,' are proper avenues for conversation_, she thought as the black dot slowly approached her door.

"Mischief managed," Althea choked out, with a weak tap against the parchment. She hastily shoved the blue patch beneath marked essays.

The blood vessels in Althea's arms constricted—her palms felt unnaturally cool—as she walked toward the door. She loudly inhaled as the shadowed slight figure passed. _Come on girl_, she thought, her trembling hand grasped the doorframe as to steady herself, _he's just a boy_. She frowned. _The son of your best friend_.

"Harry?" she said, her voice tremulous.

Harry stopped. His shoulders rounded forward, he slowly turned to face her and with a heartbroken expression, his green eyes were fixed upon the floor. Althea fought the urge to smooth his hair—did the boy not own a comb?

Althea swallowed. "Harry?"

Harry lifted his face.

She felt a burst of adrenaline within her belly. "Would you—would you like to come in?"

Harry faintly furrowed his brow at her—seeming to study her.

She licked her dry lips and mustered a weak smile. "Please?"

Harry looked about—Althea caught her breath.

He reluctantly shrugged. "Okay."

"Good," she breathed, nodding—giddy. "Good."

Althea motioned for Harry to enter. His eyes, instead of looking at the sundry artifacts that littered her office, were focused dully ahead of him. His robes appeared to have been upon his floor for a few days.

"Here, sit here," she said and pulled out the chair before her desk. "I'll—I'll take your bag—"

Harry shrank from her. "Er, no," he said, placing a protective hand upon his bag. "No, thank you."

"Right," she said and clasped her clammy hands before her. "I'll just—hungry, Harry?"

Althea did not wait for Harry's answer and hurried to her cabinet. _Why am I trembling so much_, she chided herself as the cabinet door awkwardly flew open. _God, he's probably watching me…thinks I'm mad_— Althea gasped as bottle of Butterbeer slipped in her sweaty hand; she caught the bottle at its neck.

"There," she said, placing the opened bottle before him.

Harry leaned forward to grasp the bottle.

Althea sat at her desk and opened the top left drawer. She lifted a white box with the blue bow and shook it. Harry still hadn't taken a sip of Butterbeer.

"I promise I haven't eaten all the good ones," she said, pushing the opened box of wrapped chocolates toward him.

Harry lifted the corner of his mouth in a pathetic smile.

"The purple are toffee," she said, unwrapping the purple foil. "They're Muggle chocolates," she explained, not looking up from the round piece of dark chocolate within the purple foil. "They won't dance about or sing to us." Her lips quivered into a knowing smile—would she tell Harry the tale? "I found the concept of Magic and Muggle sweets absurd at eleven."

Harry did not seem interested. Althea sighed and shoved the entire chocolate in her mouth. Althea ate and drank in silence. Harry had not touched a chocolate or drank from his bottle. A sparrow alighted upon her windowsill and hopped along the stone. Outside the confines of the excruciatingly quiet office it chirped happily. _What do I say to you_, she wondered, her index finger gently tapping the bottle. _How am I to explain fourteen—fifteen—years_? Althea focused on the lip of the bottle. Shame was powerful.

Without looking up, she spoke "We should have known he wasn't the real Moody."

"Dumbledore didn't know."

"You're right," she murmured, stroking the bottle. "You're absolutely right."

The two returned to that uneasy silence. She prayed Sirius would appear in the Floo and Harry would be so overcome with joy that it would absolve Althea of this current awkwardness. _He forgave Remus_, she thought, taking a sip of Butterbeer, _and my Sirius…he would do the same…wouldn't he_? Her stomach somersaulted—Sirius's memories stirred within her. She heard small whimpering cries beneath the rubble.

"I should've protected you—" she blurted absently.

"What could you have done?"

Althea blinked—her cheeks flushed with mortification.

Harry realized his impudence. "Sorry."

Althea shrugged. _I deserved it_. The flicker of movement from within the silver picture frame to her right caught her attention. Her delighted, besotted father kissed her smiling mother—their wedding day. _Only photographs_, she thought and wondered where Harry kept that photo album Hagrid had given him. She remembered that afternoon in her office when Hagrid meekly asked her if she had a photograph or two of Lily and James. She gave him the photograph of Lily and James with Harry, surrounded by packages, beneath the Christmas tree—the first and only Christmas with their son. In that box of photographs, Althea discovered another photograph taken on that day: Sirius proudly held the baby Harry and gently lifted his tiny hand to wave at Althea and the camera. Such photographs had stirred discontent within her as she failed to marry the knowledge of what Sirius had become to what she held in her hand. To protect Harry from unkind truths, she kept that photograph. _I'll see that Sirius sends that picture to Harry_.

"I—I should go," Harry muttered and went to stand. "Thank you, Professor—"

"No," she said quickly and Harry abruptly stopped—the shoulder strap of his bag slipped. "No, please, I—"

Harry gave her a peculiar look.

Althea sighed. "I believe you, Harry."

Harry was incredulous. "You believe me?"

"Have a chocolate," she offered, tilting the box toward him.

Harry reached across her desk, over the disguised photograph of Sirius, Althea, and Prudence, and took a piece. Harry, unwrapping the blue foil, returned to his chair.

"Why wouldn't I believe you?"

"I could—"

"No," she began, sitting forward, "you wouldn't lie about that, no one would."

Harry took a bite and seemed to enjoy the hazelnut.

"We all believe you," she began as Harry finished the chocolate, "all the staff."

"You have to," he countered, "Dumbledore—"

Althea shook her head. "No, no, we don't," she said and slipped the folded parchment toward him.

Harry's eyes widened.

"I believe this belongs to you," she said, patting the map. "I discovered it in the imposter's things when tasked to clean out his office."

Harry could not hide his eagerness. His fingers curled and extended as he hungrily gazed at the map. "How d'you know it's mine?"

Warmth encompassed Althea's neck and chest. "Professor Lupin confiscated a similar scrap of parchment," she explained, her fingertips hesitant to release the map. "If I'm to give this back to you, you mustn't lose it again," she warned—Harry was still transfixed. "If Barty Crouch had any cleverness he could have—well—you understand, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

Althea released her fingertips and Harry quickly snatched up the parchment.

"Thank you, Professor," he said and shoved the map into his bag.

"Of course," she murmured with a pang of regret—maybe it wasn't wise to defy Dumbledore so. "Mind yourself, Harry, please."

"I will—Dad!" Harry gasped and pointed above Althea's shoulder.

Althea followed Harry's fingertip to the photograph on the third shelf in her bookcase. A smiling James Potter sat beside Professor McGonagall for the 1978 Gryffindor team photograph. McGonagall, with the Quidditch Cup at her feet, smiled next to Althea.

"Ah," she began, standing, "proof I did attend Hogwarts."

She took the picture frame into her hands. The youthful Sirius placed his hand upon her shoulder. She held it against her chest, wary to show the boy, but Harry—his face betraying such excitement—awaited the photograph. Althea understood. Harry followed every movement until she stopped before him.

"Our seventh year," she said, turning the photograph toward him. "It was one of the few documented times that Professor McGonagall smiled," she said and handed him the frame.

Harry held the frame close to him—his eyes quickly shifting back and forth. "I didn't know Sirius—" He stopped, taking in a sharp breath.

"Beater," she finished and found herself smiling. "Enjoyed knocking the Slytherin Seeker off his broom," she explained, resting her palms behind her on the desk.

"Yeah?"

Althea nodded. "It's yours."

"What?" he asked, holding up the picture frame. "This?"

"Yes," she answered and Harry smiled. "It's yours."

"Thank you," he said, returning his attention to the photograph.

_It's done_, she thought as Harry inquired to the rest of the team. _It's a start_.

* * *

><p>"So?" Sirius's voice was cautious.<p>

Althea stepped from her bath. She shook her head. His posture relaxed and Althea was unsure if it was relief or disappointment. Sirius went to stand from her bed, but she motioned for him to remain.

"I'm all right," she said as she slipped beneath the bedclothes. "I shouldn't have troubled you. Silly, really—"

Sirius draped his arm over her stomach—she instinctively tightened it. "You didn't," he said, snuggling his cheek against her shoulder. "A bit of a shock, that's all."

The smell of his soap aggravated the dull, nauseating ache within her belly. She swallowed.

"Not unpleasant…just…it's not as if we actively tried," he said, stroking her side. "Although, Prudence…"

Althea brought her hand to the back of his head. "Do you want to?"

"What?"

"Try?" she asked, gently tracing circles into his scalp.

Sirius raised his head. He smiled sadly. "It would be foolish," he whispered, placing his palm against her cheek. Althea's stomach sank. "To endanger you…our child," he said and brushed a curl from her face. "I won't do that again."

"But if I were?"

Sirius let out a quiet, condescending laugh. "You're not."

"But if I were?"

"Then we would take every precaution," he said and kissed her forehead.

"Dunwell," she muttered and wrinkled her nose.

Sirius sighed and settled his head upon her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, resting his fingertips against hers. He slowly extended and flexed their fingers. "Why should I discover _Madam Poppy's Pregnancy Patch_ in your bath?"

_I should've destroyed that damn box_, she thought, intertwining her fingers with his. _Then I—_ When would she tell him? Could she tell him? _It'll just end—it will be easier this way_. She thought of the unused black patch at the bottom of the bin in the bath—a decoy.

"I didn't want you to hope."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Thank you for all the comments, messages, and reviews.

What is in store for Althea? A spider.


	13. London, Early July 1995

**London, Early July 1995**

Althea rocked back and forth in her high heels. Her head tilted back, she took in the impressive white stucco terrace house. _That I should've stumbled into a gutter in Belgravia_, she mused, the disguised Cairn Alley was an exceptionally serene street. She sighed loudly. _Best to complete this mission and be done with it_, she thought and reached for the bell. Just as her finger hovered before the black button, she hesitated—it wasn't very stealth. She pressed the button.

"Right," she breathed and smoothed the skirt of her cream Chanel suit.

The door opened and a tall, well-formed and handsome footman appeared. _I would expect nothing less_, she thought, observing his impeccable powder blue silk breeches, waistcoat, and jacket. _Pity the powdered wig hides a very fine head of hair_.

Althea removed her wide-brimmed hat. "Lady Northfield for Madame White," she said upon stepping into the entrance hall.

The footman bowed and left her.

Light from the windows and the dome skylight poured into the entrance hall. Salisbury House was opulent. Gilded frames that housed the great masters of Wizarding art hung upon the white walls next to wall sconces of gold and lead crystal. Marble winged horses in varying stags of flight ascended the dome toward the skylight. Laughter echoed from a small sitting room to her right and a Time-Turner was added as a wager in a game of cards. _If only the Ministry_, she thought and frowned, _it is the Ministry_. The footman reappeared and beckoned for her to follow. Althea's heels clicked against the white marble floors. Piecemeal conversations permeated from the opened doors. Gossip, poetry, and debates (especially one that seemed to concern Dumbledore) drew her attention. Still, she followed the footman until he stopped at two large white doors. She recognized the room to be the conservatory.

The footman opened the doors and Althea entered. Lush dark green foliage obscured the glass walls and Althea inhaled the deliciously sweet scent of tropical flowers. It was the prized room of Salisbury House and Althea remembered the last concert she heard there. It was the night she reunited with Remus Lupin. She was at her most lonely and desperate, and he, defeated and shattered. The room, the house, was oddly foreign to her—as if she remembered the events that transpired from a second-hand account in a book rather than her own true memory. _Probably the alcohol and Poppy Juice_, she thought, while tropical finches chirped happily in gilded cages. Upon a white chaise, Allegra White sat—Althea's stomach tightened. Allegra held flirtatious conversation with a gentleman beside her—a handsome gentleman with mousy brown hair and crisp blue eyes. Althea internally groaned.

"Lady Northfield," the footman announced.

Solon Despard, the Undersecretary to the Irish Minister, and Allegra halted their conversation. Solon stood and—pleased at what was before him—smiled. Althea forced a feeble smile.

"I didn't know you frequented Salisbury House," he said, taking her hand.

"She doesn't," Allegra answered for Althea.

Solon faintly frowned, but mustered a smile. "And you are well?"

Althea nodded. "Yes, thank you. And you?"

Solon playfully narrowed his eyes. "On business," he whispered and patted her hand. "Thank you," he added, his eyes insinuating relief from Madame White. "I shall take my leave," he said and turned toward Allegra. "I'll send Minister Griffin your regards."

"Of course," Allegra replied and waved him goodbye.

"Althea," he said softly.

"Solon."

Once alone, Allegra stood—the emerald silk shimmered and cascaded about her. She had not aged and Althea was sure that she employed Ageless Charms and Potions. Her face had the hint of that tight, cat-like quality to it. Her brown hair, with large, soft curls, fell to her waist. She held out her arms for Althea.

"It has been too long," she said and kissed Althea's cheek. "Here by Dumbledore's orders and not of your own accord."

"You understand the importance, then," Althea replied, pulling away from her.

Allegra motioned for them to sit.

"That young man," she began, pointing at the door, "shall be Minister of Magic. Not a speck of scandal." She looked Althea up and down. "You would do well to ignore your grandmother's advice and avoid him."

"Don't worry," she said sardonically and crossed her legs, "I won't dirty him."

_The nerve of that woman_, she thought and pulled at the hem of her skirt. Althea blinked with surprise. How unnerving to think such as Gran! Indeed, Gran did not hold Madame Allegra White in such esteem. According to some, she was a woman who slept her way into ownership of the prestigious Salisbury House. The dastardly courtesan with a design to have her hands in the trousers of every powerful magical male in England! In truth, Allegra White enjoyed being the center of the world and hovered just above the gossip. By her bed was a portrait of her beloved Francis.

Allegra leaned close to Althea. "No," she whispered and slowly smiled, "you won't."

Althea refused to play. "You understand why I'm here, don't you?"

Allegra, disappointed, reclined against the chaise. "Of course, I do," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "_Dumbledore_."

"Then you will—"

"_No_," she said firmly.

Althea sat forward. "We need an ally such as yourself, your connections—"

"Will not be betrayed by me," she finished—her face had become cold. "Dumbledore is a fool."

"Please—"

"We have not spoken for almost ten years and you return to my home not to speak of niceties or attachment, but to convince me to join that doomed club!" she said and slammed her palm against the chaise. "I, who—"

"Indulged my murderous appetite," Althea countered, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. "Don't retell all the kind, generous things you have done for me because I might seek to repay you."

Allegra swallowed and tugged at her sleeve. "My, how you've become Agnes," she sniffed. "I had thought you my friend, my deepest confidant…my affections for you were true."

"Then as your friend—"

Allegra shook her head. "Friends write, visit," she explained over Althea, "even that despicable Floo…"

"Will you not consider it?" she asked, placing her hand upon Allegra's hand.

"Consider it?" she repeated, retracting her hand. "I considered it twenty years ago and I refused him then, and I will refuse him again. The 'greater good' he said to me—ha! I am not his chess piece to control." Her violet eyes met with Althea's. "He does not need me to defeat that wizard. He does not need you. He needs none of you."

Althea, uncomfortable, stood. "When Voldemort—"

Allegra winced.

"—comes for you," she continued, "because he knows what has become of his most beloved…you will seek me, but I doubt you'll have the time to do so."

Allegra's lips quivered into a smile. "Is that a threat, Althea?"

Althea shook her head. "He knows what I've done," she said lowly. "Told me so while he tortured me—"

"And you lived?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"They've already infiltrated and I wouldn't doubt a servant or two might be cursed—"

"Lucius Malfoy is too obvious," she drawled and rolled her eyes.

"Will you not consider—"

"Good day, Lady Northfield." Allegra raised her wand and, with the flick of her wrist, the footman entered.

Althea quietly growled.

"Tell him that I will entertain no such offer," she said and forced a smile. "Good day."

Althea solemnly nodded. "Good day."

Once the front door closed behind her, Althea let out a frustrated growl.

"That odious woman!" she muttered through clenched teeth.

Aware that she could be watched, she kept up the appearance of frustration. Althea knew such an endeavor to convince Madame White to side with the Order was futile, but Allegra's refusal still provided much intelligence. By her hubris she confirmed Lucius Malfoy's presence, and would—no doubt—examine her servants and staff for the Imperius Curse. As she rounded the street corner, she frowned. Why would Solon Despard visit Allegra? _I want nothing to do with him if he pays her court_, she thought, alert that she was no longer alone. Althea quickened her pace and pretended to fumble through her purse.

"Where is that bloody lipstick?" she whispered, grasping her wand.

Immediately, she wheeled around with her wand drawn and the contents of her purse spilled upon the cobble street.

Her eyes widened. "Blood hell, Black!" she whispered heatedly, lowering her wand.

"Don't lower your wand!" he chided, raising his hands. "How d'you know I'm really him?"

"Because only _you_ would be thick enough to follow me here," she said, poking his chest with her wand.

He leaned so as only she could hear, "I am in disguise, but you've just announced to any Death Eater—"

"Why are you here?" she asked, folding her arms.

"You never go on a mission alone," he said and stooped to pick up the contents of her purse. He frowned at her silver compact. "Still works, I think," he murmured, pressing the clasp. He patted the breast pocket of his grey linen jacket. "It does."

"Thank you," she said and closed her purse, "but I doubt—"

"You never go on a mission alone," he repeated solemnly and offered his arm.

Althea refused him. "I have more business in London," she said and Sirius was dubious. "An investor from Geneva," she explained, slipping the clutch beneath her arm. "Boring stuff, really—"

Sirius sighed loudly. "I understand," he said and bit the inside of his cheek. "It would be _unwise_ for me to parade about London."

"My love—"

"I understand," he said, shoving his hands into his grey trouser pockets.

"I'll join you at Northfield."

"Right," he sighed and, with a _pop_, he Apparated.

* * *

><p>Althea entered the nave to the sound of tourists' footsteps echoing around her. She furrowed her brow—a plethora of plaques and monuments surrounded her and hid in every alcove. <em>This may prove difficult<em>, she thought, slowly turning. Major John Dumont, a beloved solider of his time, was now an obscure mention in a history book. She frowned. Did they move monuments? Her hands firmly clasped behind her back, she began to explore. Her eyes narrowed, she read every plaque and examined every cherub. It was humbling, and Althea was struck by the ephemeral natures of fame and importance—at least the portraits at Hogwarts talked to remind one of their great accomplishments. In a dimly lit recess, Althea spotted a weeping Britannia in repose. Below the marble statue was a relief of Major Dumont's capture. The barefoot captors wore frayed breeches. Althea bit her lip to stifle her giggling.

"At least they spared the man cherubs," she whispered, stepping closer to inspect the monument. She raised an eyebrow at the inscription. "This is absurd," she breathed, taking another step. "I could only imagine the embarrassment Althea Louisa would've felt if she had to look upon this—"

_He was no longer hers_, she thought, focused upon his figure cut in cold stone. _How could one overcome that_? Althea Louisa had lost her beloved John Dumont to the cult of mourning. Solidarity swelled within her breast for she understood losing those one loved to circumstances beyond oneself. James and Lily were unfeeling statues in Godric's Hollow. The man she loved was not a national hero—transformed from an ambitious, bright soldier to gallant gentleman-warrior—but was cast as the villain and the epitome of darkness itself. Surprisingly moved by the monument before her, Althea wondered if loving to the point of one's own destruction was a Morrigan trait. Althea Louisa refused food, gawking visitors, and died in mourning clothes beneath the window frequently used by a teenage Althea to sneak out with an insolent boy on a motorbike.

"Mind your feet."

Althea gasped and looked down—her toes were an inch from a small brass plaque designating Dumont's burial. Behind her, the gentleman laughed.

"Sorry," she began and spun toward him, "I—"

Althea let out a quiet laugh of surprise. He was singularly beautiful. Grey and somewhat transparent, his 18th century regimentals were well tailored and impressive. He suited the role of solider to perfection, and despite death, there was liveliness in his expression. _Couldn't have charmed your way out of the gallows_, she thought, staring at the ghost of Major John Dumont.

"Good God, a Morrigan!" he remarked and laughed again, hovering a few inches above the floor.

"You—you're a wizard?" she whispered with humorous disbelief.

"_Was_," he said and bowed. "Major John Dumont, your Ladyship."

Althea swallowed—to engage a ghost in the presence of Muggles…

"Althea," she answered quietly. "I think it best—"

He closed his eyes. "To hear such a beautiful name once more."

Wary of a Muggle stumbling upon them, Althea began, "Major Dumont, I think it best we leave—"

"We will not be bothered," he said and sadly looked about him. "No one has paid much attention to me in over one hundred years."

She feigned surprise. "Really?"

Dumont nodded. "The last Morrigan to visit was the General Lord Northfield…at one time I was his aide-de-camp, you know," he said, his face bore a hint of bitterness. "He blamed me for Miss Althea's death."

Althea remained silent, as Dumont had grown more agitated.

"But, I didn't!" he pleaded, about to take a hovering step forward, but thinking better of it. "My actions—"

"I know," she said. "You were betrayed—"

"I was there. I did not want to leave her," he said and drifted toward her—Althea shivered. "I watched her slip away, and I did all that I could…but she could not see me…or touch me," he explained, silvery tears slid down his cheeks. He gazed upon her with forlorn hunger. "To see such eyes again."

"A broken heart," Althea said, "is a powerful thing—"

"'twas consumption, your Ladyship."

"Oh," she murmured and fiddled with the seam of her clutch. "You—you've spent the last two hundred or so years here, then?"

Dumont nodded. "After Miss Althea died, I stayed with my mama until she died as well…my sisters had families and I was most unwelcome…no one likes to admit a ghost in the family," he explained and pointed at the small brass plaque upon the floor. "By then, my body had returned to England and I spent my days here."

"You don't belong here."

Dumont smiled and clasped his hands before him. "I enjoy the company."

"They can't be much," she said and nodded toward a passing group. "They're Muggles, after all."

"Where am I to go? This," he remarked, turning his head—it was then Althea saw the rope marks on his neck, "has become my home."

A wave of pity enveloped Althea. "You could…come to my home?" she offered and gently bit her bottom lip.

"You—you would offer me your home?"

Althea hesitatingly nodded. _What have I done_, she thought—Dumont hovered further off the floor. _A whinging Georgian ghost_? Althea imagined Gran's displeasure and Prudence's delight.

Dumont, grateful, bowed lowly. "I am your Ladyship's most obedient and humble servant."

* * *

><p>The music room had never been so jolly. Althea's fingers glided over the piano keys while Dumont's ethereal, pleasing voice sang of romantic eagerness for the battlefield. Sirius begrudgingly turned pages of sheet music and Prudence sat upon the sofa, enraptured with her new ghostly acquaintance. On the contrary, Gran was not averse to Dumont, but rather tickled at his arrival. She considered a haunted home to be lucky—especially one haunted by a ghost so loyal to the family. She wistfully reminisced about the ghost that haunted the Rynnes for three centuries.<p>

"Business," Sirius murmured and turned to the final page.

"His father was a Swiss merchant," she whispered and smirked. "Oh, don't pout. It could be good for us…extra eyes upon our Prudence."

Prudence sat at the edge of the sofa; her grey eyes did not waver from Dumont's form. Althea knew she would contact Genevieve by Floo at the first chance. How she would delight in telling her friend his tragic fate! Major Dumont was her melancholy curiosity.

"Why the secrecy?" he whispered. "There should be no secrets—"

Althea's smile faltered.

"—between us," he finished and clapped loudly at the song's end. "A Muggle song, Major?"

Dumont nodded. "I sang it in this very room," he said, his eyes seeming to take in every feature, every painting and instrument in the slate blue room. "The night before we left for Boston."

"Boston?" Prudence asked, sitting forward.

"Oh yes, Miss Prudence," he said, and sat on the mahogany high back chair next to her. "With General Lord Northfield…I was but a captain with the light infantry." He frowned. "I never saw my Althea Louisa again."

"But you're a wizard," Prudence replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Indeed," Dumont agreed, "but she was a Muggle and I was bound by law—"

"How _honorable_," Sirius muttered derisively while rubbing his cheek.

Althea jabbed him with her elbow.

"—to conceal my true nature until the correct time," he explained—his stock obscured that his neck was subtly askew.

Prudence appeared concerned. "No owls?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No owls."

Prudence sighed mournfully. "It would take _ages_," she said, falling back upon the sofa. Her face was full of sympathetic distress. "I can't imagine."

"I cherished her letters all the more," he assured and crossed his legs.

Althea's neck and cheeks flushed. Housed in her personal library, the intimate letters between Althea Louisa and Dumont were so candid and proved Sirius's teenage letters silly. One would have believed that the General would have destroyed such letters to protect Althea Louisa's virtuous memory. It was only after Dumont's death that the circumstances of their clandestine engagement were exposed. An earl's daughter in love with one of the middling sort? Scandalous. _He was a national hero_, she mused while Sirius's fingertips caressed the small of her back. _Maybe shagging him was considered an act of patriotism_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Thank you so much for reading! Thank you for all the comments, PMs, and reviews. What is next? A lake monster.


	14. Lakeshore, Ohio, Early July 1995

**Western Reserve Academy of Witchcraft, Early July 1995**

The aptly named Lake Erie Monster's scaly turquoise tail slithered above the murky green water in the distance. Althea wrinkled her nose. It was not as clear and lovely as Hogwarts. Sheer slate cliffs that overlooked modest, grey colored sand beaches were not as inviting as her Bermuda home. Instead of mountains and forest, tall oak and hemlock trees were neatly dispersed to provide shade to the manicured lawns of the Palladian style school. It was a humble imitation of Northfield. The voice of Headmistress Lennox drew Althea's attention from the windows overlooking the grounds to the airy and bright office. The artifacts housed in glass front white cabinets did not clink or hum. There were no derisive comments from former headmistresses. The only portrait that hung behind the Headmistress was that of a determined, yet pleasant middle-aged woman in a demure blue silk early Victorian gown. She looked upon the trio with a kindness the Hogwarts portraits lacked.

"You have a very bright and exceptional daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Parker," Headmistress Lennox said, her green eyes perused Prudence's file. "The classes…are a bit different from what we offer—"

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, taking Althea's hand. He let out a laugh of condescension. "Hogwarts is the standard—"

Althea squeezed his hand.

"Indeed, but I think we place a difference emphasis, if you will, on certain subjects," she explained with a careful smile. "But, looking at her grades, she will catch up in no time."

Sirius relaxed and patted Althea's knee.

"Very impressive for so young…Dueling Club—"

"Dueling _Champion_," Sirius corrected politely.

"Ah, yes," she replied and made a note with her fountain pen. "Charms club, the Student Society for the Cultivation of Magical Plants—"

_A bit much, Black_, Althea thought as Sirius nodded proudly.

"A glowing recommendation from the Head of House—"

_Because I wrote it_, Althea thought and crossed her legs.

Headmistress Lennox placed the file before her. "We would love to have her," she said, grinning.

The portrait of the first Headmistress nodded enthusiastically.

The couple looked to one another and smiled, but it was not a smile of pride, but one of relief. _It's done_, she thought as Sirius kissed her temple. _Prudence will be safe_. She swallowed at the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was a hollow victory.

Headmisstress Lennox stood—the skirt of her blue silk robes tumbled about her statuesque form. "I think her tour is about finished," she said, raising her hand toward the white double doors.

The white double doors opened and Prudence's giggling could be heard. She shortly entered with an auburn-haired teenage girl about Prudence's age. Prudence quieted upon seeing the three adults.

"Thank you, Romola," Headmistress Lennox said and the young girl nodded.

"See you, Prudence," she said and waved.

"Right," Prudence replied, waving. She turned toward her parents and sighed happily. "I saw the stables."

"Swiftly has a home, then," Sirius said, placing his hand upon her shoulder.

Prudence blinked. "You mean I…?"

"Welcome to Western Reserve," Headmistress Lennox said, smiling. "We're looking forward to you in September."

* * *

><p>"It isn't drafty like Hogwarts," Prudence said, twirling about on the cobble path. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes to take in shady path lined with cherry trees. "Romola will be my roommate—we've already decided—she's from Chicago, you know." She opened her eyes. "Could I visit Chicago?"<p>

"We'll see," Althea said, aware of the cheerful, peaceful feeling of the grounds.

_I wouldn't mind transferring here_, she thought, pulling Sirius's arm around her waist.

"That means, 'no,'" Prudence muttered, continuing to walk.

"I wouldn't say that, Pip," Sirius replied. "We'll see how the year goes."

Prudence let out a quiet, girlish growl. "I can never have any fun," she muttered and pathetically kicked a dislodged pebble.

"Absolute lies," Sirius countered.

"I didn't go to the Yule Ball," she said matter-of-fact.

"Well, you were too young—"

"I am not," she huffed, abruptly stopping. "I'm almost fourteen!"

Sirius's face twitched.

"This school has loads of dances," Althea said, stroking Sirius's lower back. "You'll have your fill."

"You're not helping," Sirius whispered through gritted teeth.

"And Quodpot," she added, ignoring Sirius. "I should like to see a match. National champions for the fourth year…although, the rules never made much sense to me."

"It sounds dangerous," Prudence said with an impish gleam. "Romola plays."

"Does she?" Althea replied, amused at Prudence's fast friendship. "And will you play?"

Prudence let out a sharp, barking laugh. "Of course, not!" she said and started to walk again. "I barely tolerated Quidditch."

_Just the Quidditch boys_, Althea thought, sensitive to Sirius's gloominess beside her. The Cheering Charms she performed upon herself had done wonders for her despondent mood. How else could she have gotten through an interview that would end in a separation from her beloved daughter? No, that night, once the Cheering Charms dissipated and she was alone would she feel the full weight of that day. _At least it won't end in drink_, she thought, absently placing her hand upon her stomach. The couple followed Prudence along the tree-lined path toward the clearing that overlooked the lake. Prudence chatted incessantly about the upcoming school year: the uniforms, the dormitories, the classes, and the extracurricular activities.

"There aren't as many ghosts," she said as they approached the clearing. "Maybe that's why Hogwarts seems so gloomy."

They followed the gentle slope of the path until the meticulously pruned cherry trees gave way to large, impressive oaks scattered about the clearing. Althea closed her eyes, submitting to the sound of waves and rustling leaves. For a moment, she imagined herself in Bermuda…where she hoped to be that night.

"I didn't think it so lovely from the Headmistress's office," she whispered, opening her eyes. "There is some beauty to it."

"Look at all the flowers!" Prudence breathed, pointing toward the cliff. "There is a stone path," she continued, her look hopeful. "May I?"

"Be careful," Sirius warned.

Prudence let out a noise of triumph and quickly walked toward the stone path. Sirius guided Althea to the grey stone bench beneath a large oak tree nearest the cliff. The two watched Prudence descend the cliff—ever so often to stop and pick a blossom. _She is happy_, Althea thought, taking Sirius's hand into her lap. _We are doing the right thing_.

"We will spend the night in Bermuda," Althea said, placing her cheek upon his bony shoulder. The shallow grey-green waters below were ever turbulent. "Will you not joint us?"

Sirius sighed loudly and took his hand from her lap. He leaned forward, pensive, his hands clasped before him. "Everything I've fought for…" he began and shook his head, "has been for nothing…_nothing_." He lifted his face toward the sky—the sunlight peaking through the branches illuminated the anguish upon his face. He laughed knowingly, bitterly. "I've failed her."

"No—"

Sirius lowered his head. "I wanted a happy life. I wanted…" He furrowed his brow. "I can't run away. I can't rest when I know what is to come." He took Althea's hand in his and pressed it. "It isn't—" He sighed. "There's a very good chance I might—" He winced. "And I—I just want to know Prudence is safe…you're safe." Sirius licked his dried lips. "I don't want you to fight."

Althea let go of Sirius's hand. Prudence could no longer be observed from their bench. She let out a long, lingering sigh. _As if I could fight_, she thought, her focus drifting to her stomach—she still had some months before she would show. _I can't jeopardize…but it is the principle of it. The bloody double standard! Why should I be so protected_? Where could she live in peace? Once more, her life would be filled with worry. Who would they bury next?

"I can't live as before," she said, looking from her stomach to his forlorn face. "I can't…not when there is so much to lose."

Sirius swallowed.

"I can't…live at Dunwell while friends and family are murdered," she explained and Sirius's jaw tightened. "What of Gran? Afina? Sirius, it isn't just us…or Prudence…"

She hesitated—how close she has come to blurting out her secret!

"I won't spend my days walking Dunwell, waiting for someone to defeat Voldemort."

Sirius, his voice strained, whispered, "Please."

Althea Morrigan had witnessed grave things. She had performed unspeakable acts. Who would fight Voldemort? Who would stand against such terror? _We were just children_, she thought—her stomach somersaulted at the thought of Dumbledore recruiting from Hogwarts youth again. How much promise would be snuffed out with that dependable teenage hubris? _This isn't their fight. I won't let them be fodder_. She would discuss her concerns with McGonagall for, despite her stern countenance, she always had the students' best interests at heart. Sirius, his eyes wet, rested his forehead against hers and murmured of his devotion to her. Uneasy memories filtered into her mind—Sirius's memories—of the horrors of war subdued by her loving face. Did her memories ever surface within him? Would he remember her loneliness? The futility of their situation?

Althea smoothed a lock of black hair behind his ear. "Do my memories…?"

Sirius nodded against her. "I can't forget that night," he whispered, placing his palm against her cheek. "I won't forget it."

Althea pulled away. "I am not helpless—"

"I never thought—"

"I've done terrible things—"

"I know—"

"And who will heal you?"

"My love—"

"Locking me away won't solve—"

"I wouldn't—"

"There is always that chance—"

"I just don't want you to fight—"

"How can I stand by—"

"_No_—"

"I _will_ defend our children, Sirius."

Althea inhaled a sharp breath. She prayed Sirius had misheard her, but by his expression he did not. His pale face appeared wounded. Althea began to tremble. Tears slid down her cheeks.

"You didn't mean Harry," he croaked, removing his hand from her face.

Althea shook her head and slid herself from him. Sirius turned toward the lake and inhaled a shaky breath. He seemed to retreat inward. _What would you have done if I told you at Hogwarts_, she wondered, roughly wiping her eyes. _Would you have acted the same_?

Sirius sniffed and went to stand.

"Sirius?"

He shoved his trembling hands in his trouser pockets. "I'll see that Prudence arrives safely to Bermuda," he answered, looking ahead of him.

* * *

><p>Althea landed safely upon the pink sandy beach after a tear-stained flight. She sniffed and quickly wiped her eyes as Prudence waded toward her in the surf.<p>

"Just the wind, that's all," she said and forced a smile at Prudence. "Where is Sirius?"

"Inside, I think," she said and shrugged. "Is he okay?"

Althea placed her palms upon Prudence's wet, sand-covered shoulders. "He will miss you terribly," she said and kissed her forehead, "as will I. Now, don't let me stop you from enjoying this afternoon."

_And stay away from the main house_, she thought, walking the gravel path toward her home. For an instant, Althea wondered if Sirius had left her home, but she knew Sirius would not leave Prudence. He would wait to leave until Althea's arrival.

'_It would be foolish…I won't do that again_.'

Sirius's words held in her mind. Were they to comfort her to ease her disappointment? Or did he truly mean them? He gave her very little at the lakeshore. She would need to prepare herself for Sirius's labile mood. No doubt that he would see her withholding the truth as a betrayal of him. _What was I to do_, she asked herself upon entering her darkened home. _I needed time. I wasn't a child. I wanted_—

"Freedom," she murmured, standing in the entrance hall. "Sirius?" she called, slowly spinning. All the doors upon the ground floor were closed. "Sirius?"

Suddenly, she heard commotion from upstairs. Her bedroom door was open; the sunlight poured onto the darkened landing. She heard the high-pitched crash of something glass against the floor. Althea rushed up the staircase and into her bedroom. The door to her bath was open and a bottle of shampoo sailed across the doorway. It landed with a dull _thud_ into her tub.

"Sirius?"

Sirius growled and kicked at the cabinet. "Where are they?" he yelled and let out a scream of frustration. "Don't you have any of those damn patches here?"

"No," she answered and cautiously entered her bath.

Long trails of purple, pink, and blue gels and liquids from open bottles covered the white tile floor. Every cabinet was opened—the contents half vomited from the shelves. Sirius stood amid the mess of broken jars, open bottles, and cotton balls. He ran his fingers through his hair—his face red from tears.

"I don't know what to believe," he said—his voice trembling, his hand slapping against his thigh. "I thought—" he began and shook his head, "God, Althea, after everything you'd think we'd have some amount of trust."

Althea caught a glimpse of their transformed selves in the cracked mirror. Strangers were to act a scene in her life. She deliberately turned away from the mirror and held out her hand. "There is broken glass everywhere," she said and beckoned for him to follow her to the bedroom. "You could hurt yourself."

"Not anymore than I am now," he said and Althea winced.

Althea sat upon the bed—the white duvet fluffed around her—and Sirius joined her. He kept a healthy distance from her. This was not Prudence. There was no excited, tremulous joy. She picked at a loose silver thread.

Sirius placed his head in his hands. "Why would you lie to me?" he asked quietly.

Althea did not speak. Why hadn't she told him? The threat of Voldemort? A sentence of Dunwell? Sirius' status as fugitive? It would have been absurd to attempt to keep such a secret for nine months. Impossible. She hadn't planned so. She needed…time? For what? The best way to tell Sirius? He did surprise her that night at Hogwarts, after all. She could haven eased it into conversation—softened him to the idea of a son. Althea swallowed, placing her hand upon her stomach. No, those were not the reasons. Her reason was more practical…predictable. No, as she had before, she needed the time to assure herself that she would ultimately miscarry. Every day she waited for the dull cramp to begin and the first clot of blood. It would come; she was sure of it. She never bothered with Cleaning Charms to her knickers or nightgowns—she just threw them away.

Despite the painful lump in her throat, she spoke, "I didn't want you to hope."

Sirius lifted his head. "Hope?"

Althea nodded. "I didn't want—what if I'm to lose him?" she asked, her tear-filled gaze unwavering. Sirius's eyes flickered with recognition. "I didn't want you—"

"So you would suffer alone?"

Althea nodded.

Sirius enfolded her into his arms. "No, no," he murmured, his thumb brushing tears away.

"But you said that it would be foolish," she reminded, grasping his arms. "This isn't the time. You don't want—"

"But you want," he said, cupping her face with his hands. "_You want my child_."

"_Yes_!" she sobbed, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his linen sleeves. "I want him so badly!"

Sirius studied Althea—amusingly so—while she continued shake with sobs.

"That you would show up in nine months time with our child—"

Althea inhaled a ragged breath. "It's a little less than nine months."

Sirius blinked, tears falling onto his cheeks. "How many?"

"Six and a half, I think."

"Six and a half!" he repeated loudly. He smiled—a true smile. He would never look as that young man on discovering Althea's pregnancy with Prudence, but briefly the harsh years of Azkaban did fade. There was tenderness to his countenance. There was joy. "And it's," he began softly, furrowing his brow, "it's a boy?"

Althea nodded.

Sirius's attention was firmly upon her stomach. "Prudence is doomed to have brothers," he said, and let out a small, quiet laugh. He placed his hand upon her stomach, and Althea joined his. "I get a sort of…fatherly do-over?"

Althea, smiling, gently bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"Brilliant," he whispered and kissed her lips. He regretfully pulled away. He looked upon her with such admiration and awe that it unnerved her. "That you would," he began quietly, "after everything, have _my child_—"

"Your son," she whispered.

The corners of his mouth slowly upturned. "My _son_," he said, his palm warmed her belly. "I love you." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Those words—they don't seem enough."

"I reckon you've had a bit of my family's rum," she teased, resting her forehead against his. "Stay with me, Black," she said, slipping her arms around his neck. "The Order can wait one night."

Sirius's fingers ran up and down her sides. "And defy Dumbledore?"

"Stay with me, Black," she gently begged, closing her eyes at the touch of Sirius's lips against her neck. "Stay with me, please?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Thank you for all the comments and reviews. What is next for Althea? A Harpy.

Have a delightful New Year!


	15. Number 12, Grimmauld Place, July 1995

**Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, July 1995**

The dense summer air held the stale smell of mold and mildew. Dimmed sunlight shone through the dirtied windows above their heads. The ancient bed violently creaked and rattled beneath them, which only seemed to encourage Sirius. It was out of spite. His mother's bed.

One would have thought it degrading to be the object to carry out such revenge, especially when Sirius growled, "Muckblood slut."

Althea gasped, her fingers clawing at the threadbare bedclothes before her. Sirius desired to cast out the old regime through her. She closed her eyes, her fingers twisting and contorting the soft linen fabric, and focused upon the deliciously pleasant and heavy feeling growing within her. Upon her knees, begging. He could feel her tighten, and Sirius, the benevolent pure-blood, obliged. She moaned at her euphoric liberation; her head fell against the dusty pillow. She giggled lowly, feeling his long fingers grasp her curls. He jerked her upward, and soon, his thick hot breath was upon her skin. Amongst her panting breaths, she inhaled deeply the faint spicy scent upon his damp skin. She opened her eyes—his teeth grazed her neck.

"You filthy Mucklicker," she murmured, and winced when Sirius fiercely kissed her skin.

It was loathsome and disrespectful. It was Sirius's idea. When Althea lamented the lost opportunity eighteen years before and sought to seduce the older Sirius in his youthful bedroom, Sirius suggested a more meaningful venue. Now, Sirius soundly slept beside her upon his stomach—his long black hair a damp tangle about the dingy, yellowed pillow. He didn't seem to mind the filth. She stroked a matted lock from his gaunt face—he did live in a cave. He was so thin. It seemed that summer previously had vanished from him. Granted, he was not that corpse-like figure she observed at Hogwarts, but when Sirius suggested a certain sexual position, Althea did not hesitate in her agreement. It wasn't difficult, then, for her to imagine him twenty…his skin smooth except for a few fading pink scars and his grey eyes intensely alive.

Althea rolled onto her back. She wrinkled her nose at the chandelier woven with cobwebs in the center of the ceiling. She shuddered at the thought that Sirius might have been conceived upon that bed. It was difficult to imagine Mrs. Black enjoying an act that was just as much Muggle. She placed her hand upon her stomach, massaging it. _At least it wasn't a cave_. Althea gently eased away from Sirius, and Sirius—in a sleepy attempt—stretched his arm to grasp her, but instead brought it beneath his pillow. Frayed ecru-colored lace curtains gave very little privacy in the bath. The walls, painted asparagus, were faded with portions above the tub bubbled and peeled. Althea frowned when she reached for the tarnished tap.

"Must everything be a bloody snake?" she murmured and grunted to turn on the rusted tap.

Dark orange water sputtered into the sink, and Althea mused if the water would ever run clear. She lifted her face to glimpse herself in the blackened mirror. The last to look in that mirror was Mrs. Black. Only four years after their encounter in Althea's cottage Mrs. Black breathed her last at her writing desk. She had died alone and her correspondence only half answered to her sister-in-law, Lucretia. The _Prophet_ had kept silent the family turmoil unleashed at her death. With Sirius and Andromeda disowned and Bellatrix in Azkaban, the Malfoys thought themselves the rightful heir to Mrs. Black's home. It was, therefore, a shock to learn that Sirius—despite being disowned—had still inherited Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. When Walburga married Orion, the two branches of the family merged. The entail stood. _God, that any of my children would inherit this_, she thought, allowing the cool, clear water to run over her fingers. She let out a quiet laugh. _Children_.

"I am in your bath, Mrs. Black, pregnant with that dishonorable blood traitor's son," she whispered—her heart pounded against her chest at the thought of a ghostly Mrs. Black reaching from beyond the veil to scream at her.

Through the doorway, Sirius still had not stirred. For ten years the house stood vacant and now would be the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. According to Sirius, his father had placed various protections upon it. It would be impenetrable to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Althea paused, clasping her bra. Why would Orion Black place such strict protections? _I'll never understand the hypocrisy of this family_, she thought and slipped the yellow gingham dress over her head.

"Sleep well, master of the house," she whispered, smoothing the damp locks away from Sirius's temple.

The house had been very grand. Thirty years ago, great parties were held in the ballroom. She imagined the toddler Sirius tended to by the house-elf while the elder Blacks entertained the Wizarding elite with glittering pomp. Now an inch of dust and filth covered every object. With each floor, Althea passed walls of peeling wallpaper and low-lying cobwebs. Creatures scuttled behind skirting boards. Her footsteps groaned beneath her on the threadbare carpet. She opened the door to what she believed was the drawing room—the door creaking on its hinges. Drawn curtains obscured the tall windows that overlooked the street, and dulled sunlight illuminated the dust that hung in the air. She surveyed the greyed furniture and tables. Stuffing bulged through the seams of the rotted embroidered silk pillows. The vases housed petrified flowers. The room seemed to be kept in memory to Mrs. Black's last day. The correspondence with dried ink in the inkbottle was still upon the writing desk. If it were not for time and nature, one would have believed Mrs. Black had been interrupted and was about to return. Althea shivered at the eeriness.

On the far wall hung a large tapestry. Althea's heart skipped. It was vast with names dating to the middle ages. The pride of the Black family, it would have been what every guest to their home would have seen: a testament to Wizarding purity and tradition.

"Always pure," she muttered and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Her eyes scanned the glittering gold names until she spotted Arcturus.

"Obviously left the bastards off," she remarked, noting only two children by him. Althea followed Orion's line and blinked. "You really did it," she breathed, staring at the burned spot where Sirius's name should have been.

Althea clamped her hand over her stomach at the sudden rush of nausea. Panicked, she sprinted to the dead potted plant between the large windows. Her body violently heaved and she slammed her fist against the pot, cursing for it to stop. _Bloody dreadful_, she thought, and groaned—her arms trembling. For a few minutes, she did not move for she was unsure if her vomiting fit had ceased. She swallowed—her throat raw. Pushing herself from the potted plant, her attention was once again drawn to the tapestry. Among the glittering names she noticed more burn marks—some generations had more than others.

"Was it worth it?" she wondered aloud and turned away from the tapestry.

Sirius stood in the doorway—his hands in his trouser pockets. "I reckon my mother performed one kind act when she dissolved our marriage," he said, taking in the room. He sighed bitterly. "I'd hate for my son to inherit this." He cocked his head. "Are you all right? You look peaky."

Althea shrugged. "I was sick in the potted plant."

Sirius pulled a face. "I've often felt that way as well in this place," he said, embracing her.

"Why choose it for a headquarters?"

"Why not?" he snorted, stroking her back. "Or have you fallen in love? Are we to live here? Raise our son in this disgusting place—"

"Enough," she laughed, pulling away from him. The teasing smile had not left Sirius's face. "Mind yourself, my love. Don't speak a word of it—"

"Of what?" he teased, tickling her side. "Of what? What cannot be named?"

"_Our_ _son_," she whispered, tugging upon his shirt.

Sirius grinned at her words. "Our son."

Althea picked at a button. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

"Have you?"

Althea shook her head.

"Not Afina?"

"No."

"Not Gran?"

"God, no," she said and shivered. "You've forgotten—"

"I haven't forgotten," he said. "I thought I could finally win her affection if we named our son George."

Althea playfully nudged him and Sirius laughed.

Althea stopped smiling. "You haven't told Remus, have you?"

"Of course, I haven't told Remus," he said. "I don't need a lecture." He opened his mouth to speak; instead, he faintly pursed his lips. "What of Hogwarts?"

Althea's stomach dropped. "Concealment Charms, I think…until I have the nerve to tell Dumbledore."

Sirius inhaled deeply. "I don't think you should."

"You don't?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "I must tell him. Staff will suspect and the children—"

Sirius shrugged. "Have you thought of resigning?"

"Of course, but—"

"He can't keep you any longer," he began, "for you have no reason to stay." He frowned. "He can't use Prudence anymore."

"What about Azkaban—"

"You're too valuable," he said, his thumbs gently stroking her shoulders. "Why d'you think he rescued you from Azkaban?"

Althea furrowed her brow. "He would use me as some sort of assassin?"

Sirius hesitated before he spoke carefully, "Dumbledore isn't blameless…he would use any means to defeat Voldemort… It isn't a truly noble endeavor."

Althea recognized his reluctance and disillusionment. Sirius Black's boyhood notions of justice and glory were heinously cast aside by the true vision of war.

The lines upon his face deepened. "I grew up."

Althea sighed. "How will I go about it? I doubt Dumbledore would find my replacement for the start of the year."

"What about?"

"She took a position elsewhere," she explained and Sirius made a noise of dissapointment. "I'll write her, but I suspect she won't take the job." She blinked at the sudden churn of her stomach. "Dumbledore has other priorities…he's having difficulty filling the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

"No one has ever lasted long at that position, have they?"

Althea shook her head. "A year or so at most."

"A year," he murmured, his palms stroked her bare arms. His look turned pensive. "I still think you should resign immediately. Twice, Voldemort has—"

Althea pulled away. "You're not to start—"

"You're carrying our son!" he said, thrusting his opened hand toward her belly. "How could I not—twice, Voldemort has singled you out under the protection of Hogwarts!"

"I won't live at Dunwell!" she countered, folding her arms.

Sirius massaged the bridge of his nose. "Good God, Althea, think of more than your boredom."

"It isn't so simple!" she said, plunging her arms to her sides. "I am carrying a child—I can't be locked away. I'll need medical attention."

"You're a Midwife—"

Althea eyes widened. "I will most certainly not!"

"Then a Muggle, all right," he said through gritted teeth. He growled with frustration. "Voldemort hoists you into the air, ready to chuck you into Fiendfyre, and you want to strut about Diagon Alley!" He placed his hands on his hips and paced—his feet creating plumes of dust.

"Hiding didn't protect me."

"It's different this time," he said, still pacing. "Until I learn what protections my father and grandfather placed I cannot secure Northfield. Dunwell is our only option." He stopped. "You were pregnant."

"What?"

Sirius slowly turned toward her. "You were pregnant when Voldemort tortured you."

Althea began to shake. She was pregnant. She placed her hand upon her stomach. _What have I done_?

"I'll lose him. Prudence couldn't survive—" She covered her mouth and tightly shut her eyes. "It's happening again. What are we doing? We're not—we're not—"

Sirius collected her into his arms. "This is the moment," he whispered, resting his cheek against hers, "that I promise you everything will be all right…but it won't be—"

A booming crash jolted the couple apart. Althea quickly inhaled the dusty air and began a fit of coughs. Sirius groaned and rushed toward the door.

"YOU FILTHY HALF-BREED—"

The muscles in Althea's arms painfully constricted at the sound of that familiar female voice. _It can't be_, she thought, shaking her tightened wrists for relief. _She's dead_!

"Good God, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Sirius growled, his footsteps loudly thumping against the stairs.

The piercing dread filled her belly. It had been fourteen years since she heard that voice. Once, in 1983, she encountered Mrs. Black in Diagon Alley and—although no words were spoken—the woman seemed satisfied with Althea's downfall. Narcissa Malfoy, under the approving gaze of Mrs. Black, coaxed her son to drop two Knuts at Althea's feet in Flourish and Blotts. Althea returned the generous gesture by sending Mrs. Black a photograph of the intoxicated Althea and Sirius in flagrante delicto at Studio 54.

"It's 'son of a bitch'—get it right you—"

"Shut her up, Padfoot, _will you_?" Remus growled, tugging at a tattered curtain. "Stop shouting at her!"

Althea slowly walked before the billowing curtains. Seated, her head rolling back and forth and shouting the most vulgar and nasty words, was Mrs. Black. Her skin exceptionally sallow, she had not aged well and whatever slowly killed Mrs. Black had done its work. She was a grotesque caricature. Althea felt neither pity nor rage. She felt disgust. Mrs. Black had been one of the most beautiful women in Wizarding Britain, but that portrait captured her true nature. It was fitting.

Her bulging eyes caught site of Althea. She raised a withered hand. "Whore!" she hissed. "Greedy Muckblooded guttersnipe—"

"That rides on the backs of Centaurs," Althea finished and arched an eyebrow. "A bit redundant."

Her screeching had awoken other portraits, which soon began to murmur.

Mrs. Black was undeterred. "You, who befouls the house of my fathers—"

"I befouled your bed," Althea retorted.

Mrs. Black quieted—her face ashen.

Althea grasped the moth-eaten velvet curtains. "You're just a portrait and have no power," she said with icy calm. "It is my home now."

Althea hastily shut the curtains over the stunned Mrs. Black. The two men stood at her side.

"I've dealt with Phineas's abuse for years," she explained quietly. "It's easy to shut their lot up." She sighed. "Give me an ax…I'll get her down."

"Such things have been tried," Sirius sneered, and tossed the hair from his face. He smiled at the white paper bags on the table. "Fantastic," he began, massaging his stomach, "I'm starving."

* * *

><p>Althea sat in uneasy silence for most of the meeting. Nymphadora Tonks sat across from her at the long kitchen table and, throughout the meeting, cast furtive glances at the Muggle Studies professor. It was not until Althea spoke of her meeting with Allegra White that Tonks realized Althea's usefulness. At the meeting's adjournment, only Remus, Sirius, Althea, and Dumbledore remained.<p>

"Thank you, Sirius," Dumbeldore said, his thin fingers glided over the map of the Department of Mysteries. "This house will be much help to us."

Sirius shrugged. "Andromeda would be of more help. She is an Unspeakable," he said and furrowed his brow. "At least she was. I could—"

"You are not to go to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius," Dumbledore said in a firm voice.

"But—" Sirius began, sitting forward.

"You are not to go to the Department of Mysteries," Dumbledore repeated, clasping his hands before him on the table. "If you were to be discovered—"

"I won't be discovered," he replied, waving his hand dismissively.

Althea bit her lip to suppress her sigh. To Sirius, the Ministry charms to alert Aurors at his detection if he were to step inside were nothing more than nuisance.

"If you were to be discovered, it would jeopardize the entire mission," he concluded, looking above his half moon spectacles. "Voldemort must be kept ignorant of our knowledge."

Sirius folded his arms and bit the inside of his cheek. He narrowed his eyes. "I'll trail Harry—"

"We have Arabella Figg—"

"She's a _Squib_!" Sirius shouted, standing. "He is my godson—"

"Precisely," Dumbledore replied.

Remus urged Sirius to return to his seat, but Sirius refused.

"You are the closest that Harry has to a father and Voldemort will exploit it," he continued, despite Sirius's trembling. "He knows you're an Animagus—"

"What am I to do?" Sirius asked, his voice strained. "No one has seen—" he began and quickly stopped—he swallowed hard.

"You are to remain here."

Althea let out a sharp gasp.

Sirius paled at the vile arrangement.

Remus balked. "Sir—"

"You are to remain here."

"How would I be useful?"

"You would be useful here—"

"What? Cleaning? Deciding on new drapery?" he spat, thrusting his hand toward tattered curtains. "I'm not a fucking house-elf!"

"You do remember our last, Sirius?" Dumbledore reminded as Sirius grew louder and louder with his ideas on home decorating.

Sirius slammed his fist against the sink. "Which talk?" he asked, his face violet.

"The night Voldemort returned."

Sirius quieted and rested his hands against the countertop. His long black hair obscured his face. _Now he understands what I feel_, she thought, discovering a miniscule inkling of pleasure at Sirius's forced seclusion by another for his own good. But his childhood home? No, there had to be an alternative. Again, Sirius would live in unease with his mother—any loud noise would elicit her censure. It was in the ballroom where Bellatrix practiced the Cruciatus Curse upon him to rid him of his Muckblood predilections; she'd hoped such torture—if not rid him of his habit of preferring a girl with Muggle blood—would render him sterile. It was in the drawing room, beneath the tapestry, where Bellatrix assured Narcissa that the bastard would never live to defile the name of Black. It was in the same room where Mrs. Black received that fateful letter and realized—in desperation—that some flaws could be overlooked.

"Then I have no choice," he said quietly, his tone defeated.

Althea sat forward. "What of Northfield—"

Sirius shook his head while Dumbledore spoke, "His disguise did not go unnoticed by Lucius Malfoy. Any man seen with you will be assumed to be Sirius—"

Althea looked to Remus who appeared just as perplexed and dismayed.

"But this house…it is horrible," she said. "Surely, we could secure—"

"This is not a time to be selfish—"

"Selfish?" Althea replied, wide-eyed.

What an odd choice of words? How was it selfish to think of Sirius's well being? That house sought to suffocate him as a boy, and she knew it would slowly kill him as a man. It wouldn't take a dementor to remember such horrors.

"You will be followed," Dumbledore explained. "Already Voldemort has exploited your relationship."

"So, I am to be exposed whilst Sirius is here?"

"You have Hogwarts—"

Sirius lifted his head and their eyes met. Defiance melded with resolve.

She ran her fingers through her slightly unkempt hair. "What are you asking of me? To stay away from Sirius Black?" Dumbledore's lips quivered to speak, but Althea continued, "They don't care if we're broken up or together. They never have."

"The strain of such an arrangement has taken its toll," Dumbledore began, "and after the last incident, you and Sirius are no more."

"As if anyone would believe that," she snorted, folding her arms. "If only I could be so cavalier with the emotions of others," she said, defiantly staring into Dumbledore's pale blue eyes. "If the Ministry, our families, and Voldemort can't keep us apart, neither will you."

Dumbledore did not look away. "You are to have no contact. No owls or Floo for they will be monitored," he said and Remus shifted uncomfortably across from her. "Your only contact will be during meetings and that will be limited."

Althea's face flushed with indignation.

"Your relationship is a liability—"

"I quit," she said, abruptly standing. "I quit Hogwarts."

Above the seated Dumbledore, Sirius slowly smiled. She waited for Remus to interject and to placate, but he did not.

"I was attacked twice whilst at Hogwarts," she explained, fighting the tremulous inkling in her voice. "I think it in the best interest of the children that such a liability as myself should be removed."

"You will have no contact outside—"

"The meeting is adjourned," she said and nodded toward Sirius. "I should go."

* * *

><p>Blowing up boulders in the woods of Northfield was a bit much, but what release was Althea to have? <em>I dare him to return me to Azkaban<em>, she thought darkly, about pass Prudence's bedroom. Through the partially opened door, Prudence's giggling could be heard mingled with Afina's. It was such a beautiful sound and to keep Sirius—in these last few weeks before Prudence would leave for what could be forever—from it was cruel.

Prudence sighed happily. "He tasted of Fizzing Whizbees."

Althea stopped. "Fizzing Whizbees?" she mouthed, raising an eyebrow.

Althea knocked upon the door and the girls quieted. _I've ruined their fun_, she thought as Prudence beckoned her to enter. Afina clutched a pillow to her stomach and smiled knowingly when Althea entered. Prudence was sprawled on her back across the bed. She was in a dreamy state—her forefinger curling a spiral curl. It had happened. _At least you aren't crying_, she thought, sitting next to Prudence.

"And how was Freddie's birthday party?" she asked, taking the curl from Prudence's finger.

The apples of Prudence's cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. She smiled—her grey eyes sparkling. "It was good."

"Good," Althea murmured, smiling. "He enjoyed your gift from Honeydukes, then?"

Prudence nodded, picking at the embroidery of the duvet.

"Especially the Fizzing Whizbees," Afina teased and squealed when Prudence quickly sat up and threw a pillow at her.

"Stop it!" Prudence pouted. "Why would you—"

"She's incredibly jealous," Althea said, leaning close to Prudence—again, Prudence had borrowed Althea's perfume. "Her first kiss wasn't as lovely."

Prudence straightened. "How did you know?" she asked, raising her fingers to lips. "Is it obvious?"

Althea giggled. "An excellent deduction," she said and winked.

"Oh, it was lovely," she sighed, looking off dreamily. "He didn't want to open my gift in front of the Muggles so we went into the garden…roses everywhere—"

Althea bit her lip to stifle her giggling.

"We had Fizzing Whizbees—"

"You were floating?" Althea asked softly.

"A little bit," she answered and smiled.

The three gave in to giggling.

Prudence fell back upon the bed and heaved a great sigh. "I don't want this summer to end!"

"Neither do I," Althea whispered, stroking Prudence's warm cheek.

* * *

><p>"<em>A<em>_lthea, he keeps looking over here," Jane whispered excitedly, causing Althea's arm to jar as she wrote_ manticore. _"Althea, he's doing it again." _

_ Althea, frustrated, placed her quill atop her parchment for Defense Against the Dark Arts. "So?" she replied, refusing to look away from her parchment. "He's allowed to look around," she added, picking up her quill. "This essay won't write itself no matter how clever I become in Charms." _

_ "_Althea_," she whispered through gritted teeth, hooking a lock of thick blonde hair behind her ear. "_How _can you concentrate—"_

_ "Barely," she murmured sardonically. _

_ Jane clicked her teeth and flicked the corner of Althea's parchment. "You're just as awful as Snape." _

_ Althea wrinkled her nose at the comparison. "Why should I care about Black?" she said, taking a furtive peek at the boy who had tossed his quill on the table before him. _

_ "Because I'm your friend." _

Why should I care if he keeps looking over here_, she thought, diverting her eyes to her paper once Sirius looked toward them. She felt a creeping warm sensation begin at her nape, and she prayed it would remain there. Blushing because of Sirius Black? Preposterous._ He's probably waiting for the right moment to throw something at me_. Taking another break from her essay, she sighed, ran her fingers through her hair, and frowned. She had found another rolled up piece of paper in her hair._ I thought I'd gotten all of these out of my hair_, she thought, throwing the wad of paper on the floor._ He's such a berk.

_Unexpectedly, Jane nudged her arm again. "He keeps looking over here," she whispered excitedly. "I wonder what he wants," she thought aloud, frowning slightly. _

_Althea watched Jane's thought process with mild amusement. _

_Suddenly, Jane sat upright—her eyes widening. "Maybe—maybe he wants to ask me to Hogsmeade!" she whispered eagerly, grabbing Althea's arms. "It is two weeks from now," she added. "Oh, how does my hair look, my face—is it all right?" she asked frantically, running her fingers through her hair. _

_ Althea suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "You look perfect." _

_She could not dash Jane's hopes and tell her that Sirius was not permitted to go on the next Hogsmeade visit, and that it was Althea's fault. Annoyed that he had thrown spit wads into her hair during History of Magic, during Potions she added a few extra ingredients to his potion and it exploded. Unfortunately, the cauldron and its contents only exploded on two people—Lily and Althea. Professor Slughorn was so horrified at the results that he made Sirius's detention for Hogsmeade weekend. Althea sighed and blew the only remnant of that class—the green strand of hair—out of her face. Madam Pomfrey said it would take about two weeks for the green strands to fade away—just in time for the Hogsmeade trip. _I hope she's right—I don't want to have green and black hair for the trip_, she thought, looking in the direction of Sirius. Sirius, staring at Althea, whispered to James. She frowned_. Why is he staring at me_, she thought when James nudged Sirius._ Does he know it was me that added those extra ingredients to his potion_? Sirius, his eyes locked upon Althea, nodded. _

_Althea's neck burned with mortification. "Black, what are you looking at?" _

_Sirius leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and grinned. "Can't I look about?" he asked and nodded at Jane. "Finished with that essay Meadows?" _

_Jane tossed her long blonde hair. "Of course," she lied, batting her eyelashes. "Manticores…so easy." _

_Sirius's grin widened. "Could I copy off you?" he asked, sitting forward. _

_Althea made a noise of disgust. "You will certainly not!" _

_Jane let out a little squeak. _

_Sirius threw his head back. "Bloody hell, Morrigan, you're such a ruiner of fun!" _

_Althea wrinkled her nose. "That isn't a word," she scoffed. _

"_What?" he asked, tilting his chair back farther—how she would laugh if he fell! "What isn't a word?" _

"_Ruiner." _

_The front legs of Sirius's chair slammed against the wooden floor. "My point proven," he said and tossed the shiny black locks from his grey eyes. _

_Althea stood. "I'm going to find another book on manticores," she muttered, wary that she still held Sirius's attention. _

"_Oh, mates!" Sirius gasped and elbowed James and Peter. He quickly stood and, in a low and fumbling sycophantic bow, he said, "The Lady Althea leaves us! Please, return to us again, dear Lady—"_

"_Berk," she growled and turned on her heel. _

_She frowned at Sirius and his mates chuckling behind her. _

I don't ruin fun_, she thought, as she searched the library shelves for books about manticores_. I'm loads of fun_. She wrinkled her nose_. Aren't I_? Her forefinger traced the book spines._ Why should I care what he said to me_, she wondered, her eyes narrowing to read the book titles_. He's being a berk—like always. _She growled that he could distract her focus. _He's just a boy—

"_The most popular boy at Hogwarts," she whispered and sighed. _

_Standing upon her tiptoes, she reached for an enormously thick book—_Dangerously Deadly Creatures_—upon the top shelf. Just as she was about to expose her constellation knickers to the lonely aisle, she tenuously grasped the book. She heard a boy clear his throat behind her. She quickly turned around, clumsily holding the book to her chest. _

"_What do you want?" she snapped, pressing her back against the bookshelf. "I found this book, you'll have to use it after me." _

_Sirius licked his lips. "Is everything about essays and exams?" he asked softly, stepping closer. _

_Althea swallowed at how close they were. "We have O.W.L.s," she answered and Sirius's hands gently pried the book from her. _

_He placed the book upon the shelf behind her and braced himself against the shelf. "Hogsmeade is soon," he whispered. _

"_You've got detention, haven't you?" _

_Sirius smiled crookedly. "Doesn't matter," he murmured and closed his eyes. _

_Althea's fingers curled into the fabric of his robes. He tasted of peppermint. Her lips reached for his and delight exploded within her belly as he deepened his kiss. With reluctance, she pulled away—her body ached for more. _

"_So?" he whispered thickly, his hands about her waist. "Hogsmeade?" _

_Althea blinked. Sirius Black's handsome face came into focus. He smiled. His lips were pink because she made them pink. She gasped, pushing him away. Her eyes wide, she wiped her mouth. Her body reeled with humiliation. _

"_What did you do that for?" she whispered heatedly. _

"_What?" he asked, the smile still lingered upon his face. _

"_You're not supposed to do that!" she whispered, horrified. "It wasn't supposed to be you!" _

_It was supposed to be special and as romantic as the fifteen-year-old Althea could imagine. It was supposed happen during a Hogsmeade visit. With snowflakes falling about them, a shy Remus Lupin was to kiss her during a walk in the grove of firs. If it took until their seventh year for Remus to realize his affection for Althea then so be it. Instead, it was Sirius Black. Discourteous and obnoxious and too clever for his own good. _

_Althea felt the stinging tears well in her eyes. "You've ruined everything." _

"_It was just a kiss," he sniffed, and anger licked at Althea's belly at his dismissiveness. "I had a forfeit." _

"_A forfeit?" _

_Sirius shrugged, looking away from her. "D'you think I'm happy about it?" he said and pulled a face. "Morrigan." _

_Humiliated, Althea grasped the enormously thick book and flung it at him. The book grotesquely connected with side of Sirius' face, creating a dull thud. Groaning, he staggered backward into the bookshelf and slid to the_ _ground—the books falling around him and on top of him. When the cascade of books stopped, the library was silent. _Now you've done it_, she thought, staring at the heap upon the floor. _

"_Miss Morrigan…!" _

_The former Headmasters and Headmistresses eyed Althea with disapproval. McGonagall, thin lipped, had yelled at Althea with such a fury that she was sure she would have detention for an entire year. She wondered if her father writing a check would smooth things over…like the broom shed. He could finance an entire new wing of the library and it would still be only a third as lovely as the library at Northfield. She kicked her right heel against the ground—it would mean her father discovering her latest misdeed._ Maybe he'd come home, _she thought, folding her arms. _

_ "Back again?" Phineas Nigellus quipped. "And the Muggles seek to reward you with the epithet of Lady." _

_ Althea rolled her eyes. _

_ "Althea," Dumbledore said and Althea straightened. "I am sure," he began, sitting at his desk, "you will be relieved to know Sirius Black will make a full recovery under the skill of Madam Pomfrey." _

_ Phineas Nigellus sat forward. "Sirius Black? That little—"_

"Phineas_," Dumbledore warned. _

_ Althea weakly smiled. _

_ "Sirius has not disclosed the reason of this afternoon's event," he said, looking over his half-moon spectacles. "It might have been amnesia, but I am sure it was reluctance." _

_ Althea nervously picked at a loose thread upon the chair._ Don't make me say it, _she pleaded, curling her toes within her black mary jane shoes._

_ "What could have caused such a display?"_

_ Althea was tight lipped. _

_ "Althea?" _

_ Althea let out a mournful sigh. "He kissed me," she muttered. _

_Dumbledore leaned forward. "I'm sorry, but I could not hear." _

_ "He kissed me," she said awkwardly, "and I threw a book." _

_ Dumbledore reclined in his chair. _

_ "That might have been the smartest act that silly girl has ever done," said Phineas Nigellus. "Knock some sense into my foolish great-great grandson's thick head." _

_ Althea half listened to Dumbledore's lecture. Her father would be notified…and her grandmother. Sirius Black cared nothing about Althea. It was, as he said, just a kiss. It could have been the lips of any girl. She frowned, but it did not feel like any kiss. He didn't have to kiss her in such a way for a forfeit. A simple peck would have sufficed. No, it lingered and his mouth was open against hers. She shifted in her chair and swallowed. She tasted him. _

_She was disgusted by the whole affair, but not because it was disgusting. She was disgusted that for a brief moment—a very brief moment—it was glorious. As he held her, she wanted him to kiss her, begging him to do so. She wondered if the other girls had felt as she: for in that one moment to be the only thing that mattered…_

* * *

><p>"Will you live upon this roof?" Althea asked, nuzzling the crook of Sirius' shoulder.<p>

The couple cuddled against the chimney upon the roof of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The alleyways and gardens were haphazard and unkempt. Wizards and witches, unaware, flew against the night sky.

Sirius did not answer, but kissed her temple instead.

"Dumbledore be damned," she whispered, closing her eyes. "We will find a way."

"Dumbledore would chuck me back to Azkaban if that meant helping Harry," Sirius replied, resting his cheek against her forehead. "I must do this, my love."

"We could slip away to Dunwell."

Sirius lifted his head. "You were so against it," he said, which jostled Althea from her comfortable position.

"That was before I had the company," she said, tugging on his shirt collar. She frowned thoughtfully. "We shouldn't be alone with our thoughts in such gloomy places."

Sirius' smile was bittersweet. "No," he murmured and kissed her lips. Pulling away, he asked, "How was Freddie's party?"

"He enjoyed his gift," she answered and kissed his cheek. "Well done."

Sirius smiled, pleased with himself. "What boy wouldn't? It's Honeydukes."

"Indeed," she sighed, resting her cheek against his shoulder. She closed her eyes and listened to Sirius's breathing. "What boy wouldn't?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading! Thank you for all the messages and comments.

What is in store for Althea? A wedding.


	16. Northfield, Early August 1995

**Northfield, Early August 1995**

_Althea rocked back and forth upon her white espadrille wedges. She longed for a gentle breeze on that hot, humid afternoon. The shade of palms in that lush courtyard did very little to ease the oppressive sun. Althea inhaled a jarring breath—it seemed as if her chest was collapsing upon her. _

_ "Where are you?" she muttered and tugged at her dress hem. _

_Northfield chapel. The Northfield tiara. Boughs of roses, and myrtle, and lily of the valley. The finest silk. A village fete. Althea sighed. Instead, she stood in a courtyard surrounded by yellow, orange, and red hibiscus, and wore a hastily purchased white mini dress with lace overlay. No choir, no string quartet, and no bridesmaids. Alone, and only birds as her wedding choir, she waited for Sirius. _

"_You're an utter fool," she whispered and licked her glossed lips. Sirius would kiss them to seal the nuptial ritual. "Oh God, it's really happening, isn't it?" _

_That morning Sirius awoke from what should have been certain death and a Ministry raid greeted the couple. Sirius, in his reckless wisdom, pronounced them married and sent them to this sticky predicament. The Ministry would investigate and discover the ruse. At least with a Muggle elopement they had some chance of deceiving the Ministry. Muggle elopements were common in such a time of gloom and uncertainty. Althea turned toward Sirius's deliberate footsteps. His hands in his pockets, he approached—her heart jumped at his appearance. He was handsomely dressed in a beige linen suit. His black hair was no longer insolently unkempt as if just tousled by a lover, but smoothed and away from his face. He smiled crookedly, nervously at her. _

"_You look—" he began, his voice soft and excited. "I'm not supposed to see you, I think." _

_Althea swallowed. "This isn't real," she said, aware of Sirius's eager gaze. "It—it doesn't matter." _

"_No, no, it doesn't," he whispered and hesitated. "Oh," he murmured, and reached beneath his shirt collar. He retrieved a gleaming gold chain. _

_Althea's eyes widened. "Were did you get that?" she breathed, reaching for the twinkling hourglass. _

_Sirius quickly pulled the Time Turner away. "Never you mind," he said in a low voice. He slipped the chain over her head. "A little insurance." _

_Althea focused on Sirius's grinning face while the scene about them blurred to dawn, to midnight, and then to midday. She blinked and raised her hands to catch herself against Sirius, but she did not need him. He lifted the chain from around her and tucked it beneath his collar. He sighed, very pleased. _

_He offered Althea his arm. "Right, then?" _

_Althea cautiously took it—her stomach sinking as she did so. _

_The two started for the robin's egg blue building, but Sirius stopped. He plucked a red hibiscus bloom and placed it in his lapel. He frowned thoughtfully and took her hands in his. Her hands trembled against his clammy palms. _

_Fixed upon their clasped hands, Sirius spoke, "I would've thought—"_

"_It would be somebody else," she finished, her throat unnaturally tight. _

_Sirius shook his head, releasing their hands. He rested his fingertips against her cheek. "At least, for this one moment," he began, in his eyes mingled sadness and hope, "pretend that you love me…" _

Althea opened her eyes. The tufts of purple and yellow flowers along the stream bended and bobbed in the gentle breeze. Beneath the shade of poplar and elm, she often found respite in this riparian escape. _How many more summers_, she wondered, stopping at the bank. The clear water below meandered over boulders and lesser stones, creating a happy cadence. Althea had taken advantage of Northfield. She truly was its heir—just as those first sons before her—believing that it would always be. The money would always be. For years she took a passing interest in its affairs for she was unprepared to inherit such vast wealth at fifteen. In truth, she was not supposed to inherit (only her father's meager income from his books) but a little magic changed everything. Gran had not the foresight, though. Althea was to accomplish what all women of her station were bred for, a marriage and children, but Althea rebelled. Prudence was not the first illegitimate Morrigan, but she was the first to be taken in to Northfield. She would be left more than just Althea's humble teacher's salary, but the property that mattered—the property a precocious teenager had fallen in love with—would never be hers. Northfield was beyond ownership. Althea placed her hand upon her stomach. _Not even our son_, she thought and swallowed bitterly. A teenage cousin at Oxford—according to her solicitors—was to inherit. On hearing the news, he drunkenly demanded his friends address him as Viscount Northfield.

No one loved Northfield more than Gran. Disowned, she found refuge with the Morrigans. Their history was hers. Now she had passed such love on to Prudence, who did not view its imposing architecture and sentimental landscape a prison of unhappy memories. How many years would her son play on the grounds and fly his broom above the lake, his toes skimming the surface, to discover a place he loved was not his? She had lived so destructively…so selfishly—

"Lady Northfield?"

Althea turned toward the camera and the elaborate rig of reflectors. The magic hour. Would the Viscount Northfield enjoy the televised guided tour?

"So, you don't have a favorite room—"

"No," she murmured, shaking her head. "How could I when I have this?" she said, gracefully outstretching her arms. "This is more beautiful than any room with fine furniture and a gilded portrait."

* * *

><p>Althea rested her back against the door to Gran's private apartments. The sitting room was elegantly furnished and distinctly feminine—the blue silk wallpaper was some of the loveliest in all of Northfield. She hoped that Gran had forgiven her attempt to steal the beloved portrait of her grandfather for the production. How was she to know a Permanent Sticking Charm held it? Gran was seated at her writing desk before a window. The large sapphire sparkled with each flourish of her quill and the long white plait that rested over her thin shoulder did not hinder her work. A woman of her nineties but did not look more than her seventies.<p>

Gran did not look up from her letter as she spoke, "Are they gone?"

Althea's smirk mimicked her grandfather's. "For today," she said, standing before his portrait…Gran had repaired the burn mark to the frame. "I might've led them to believe we own a pair of Napoleon's breeches."

Gran continued her letter.

"Second thoughts?" she remarked, looming over her grandmother. The ink upon the stationary vanished. Althea frowned. "Death Eaters don't watch telly."

Gran shook her head. "No," she began, replacing her quill, "it is an invitation to that boy."

"You mean, the one who has styled himself to his mates as Viscount Northfield?"

Gran stiffened.

Althea pointed her wand at the white high back chair. It hovered across the floor and came to rest beside Gran.

"You did what you could, Gran," she said, sitting upon the chair. "My father—"

"He was young and could have—"

"He'd lost my mother," she interrupted, slowing rotating her mother's silver bracelet about her wrist. "Despite what you may think, or what Minerva thinks, or what all those old tarts think, he loved her. You weren't there when she died—"

"And you shouldn't have been there, Althea Rosemary."

Althea let out a tired sigh. "We thought the marriage in Barbados very real," she said, and wiggled her left ring finger so the ruby would sparkle. "How were we to know that it was a sham?"

"It gave us something."

Althea nodded. "I'm surprised you're not scheming to throw Prudence in the way of—"

Gran quickly turned toward Althea. "What I did for you, Althea Rosemary, was to save _us_. Your father—" Gran paused and sighed.

"Admit that I'm a failure, Gran," she replied, rubbing her forehead. "I've disappointed you, I've disappointed the village, I've disappointed the staff…" She arched her back—why own a chair so achingly stiff? Why choose formality and appearance over comfort? "I've disappointed Northfield…I put love before duty." She relaxed into the chair. "I am selfish."

Gran massaged the bridge of her nose. "You were a child," she answered and Althea's mouth parted with surprise. "Maybe if I—"

"Why we're so desperate to get it right with Prudence," she said and smiled sadly. She looked ahead of her. "It was so simple when I—" Althea paused, placing her hand upon her stomach.

"What, Althea Rosemary?"

Althea folded her manicured hands in her lap. When Gran discovered Althea's pregnancy she had cursed Sirius from the cottage. When Gran discovered that Sirius had returned to Althea after twelve years in Azkaban she had attempted to kill him. Panic gripped Althea. Maybe if she saw the infant boy it would soften the blow. Prudence had such a calming influence.

Althea stood. "I—I should—"

"_Stay_," Gran warned and Althea hopped mid step.

"Gran, I should—"

"Face me."

She faced her grandmother. She gulped, placing her hands upon the chair back. Gran's dark blue eyes were piercing and she commanded Althea's compliance.

"What are you to tell me?"

Althea hesitated. She drummed her fingers against the chair. She could sense Gran's anxious frustration at Althea's stubborn, nervous hesitancy. _Out with it_, she thought as Gran waited. Althea sighed loudly.

"Sister Margaret had encouraged me to come to terms with my fate…but, but it was a lie. I couldn't do so. I'd lied to Derrick, Gran—I couldn't have gone through with that marriage. He didn't know my condition, and I tried, but it didn't work…nothing worked. What I thought I was, what I thought I couldn't have, was as real as I thought myself a witch." She furrowed her brow, her fingers glided along the chair back. "Afina had given me a pamphlet—a silly thing, really—"

She looked up at Gran's unwavering gaze.

She placed her palm against her chest, and in a small voice spoke, "How could it help me?"

Gran paled.

Althea hastily lowered her eyes. "I should've been content with Prudence," she said and swallowed, tightly gripping the chair. "I took those potions. I didn't think it would work—"

She heard a small sob. Gran, her eyes wet, brought a trembling hand to her mouth.

"Sirius didn't force me, Gran. He didn't—_he didn't know_… I didn't want to give him hope." Althea blinked at the heavy tears. "It's a boy."

Gran was silent, crying.

Althea loudly sniffed. "Will you not say it?"

Gran, covering her face with her hands, shook her head.

* * *

><p>Althea tugged at her dress on the third step from the bottom of the kitchen staircase. She felt particularly plump that evening. As she was about to descend the last step, Remus rushed to grasp her.<p>

"Remus—what are—" she sputtered as he forcefully guided her to the right of the staircase.

He stooped pick up a small brown ball. "Unexploded Dungbomb," he said, holding it aloft and pulling a face.

Althea mimicked his disgust. "Dungbomb?"

He arched his eyebrow at the darkened staircase. "But which Weasley?" he murmured.

"_Weasley_?"

Remus leaned as for only her to hear, "Best not to tell Molly. Don't want her waking Mrs. Black…again."

Althea frowned, perplexed. "What are you about?"

Remus carefully pocketed the Dungbomb. "You and Sirius are the only people who can quiet his mother," he said and nodded toward the man sitting in the darkened corner. "And he's in one of his moods."

Althea quietly groaned. "What now?"

"What else?" Remus said, as they walked toward the table. "Snape."

The kitchen appeared cleaner and she knew it wasn't that accursed house-elf Sirius discovered lurking in his mother's cupboard. Molly Weasley, humming, busily levitated a pot toward the stove. Arthur Weasley and his eldest son sat at the table with a spread of maps and documents before them.

"Of course," she muttered and raised an eyebrow at the members leaving. "I—I thought we're to have a meeting?"

Remus scratched the side of his nose. "Molly's making—"

"Are we to have a meeting?" she asked pointedly, but quietly.

A stream of redheaded children stomped down the stairs. . Mrs. Weasley called for her husband in a warning tone; the two men begrudgingly gathered the parchments. Accustomed to their sound, Molly began to bark orders to her children. Althea narrowed her eyes at Remus. He smiled sheepishly.

"Had," he said, "we had a meeting."

"And," she said, stepping closer to him, "was there a damn good reason why I was told a different time?"

Remus cleared his throat. "Well," he began, scratching the back of his head and looking at the new faces milling about, "Sirius—"

"Isn't a damn good reason!" she whispered heatedly.

"It's been ages!" he whispered, wary of the oblivious guests. "We thought it would be—"

"Professor Morrigan, how nice of you to come," Sirius interrupted coolly. "A summer evening flight does give one a healthy glow—"

"I Apparated."

Sirius's cool demeanor cracked. "Is that _safe_?" he asked, concerned.

Althea's lips quivered with amusement. "Why wouldn't it?"

"Indeed," he murmured and, out of her periphery, Althea noticed that they had Mrs. Weasley's furtive attention. "And your family? Are they in good health?"

"The best, Sir."

Sirius slowly smiled. "Yeah?" he asked, his expression softening.

"Yeah," she answered, nodding.

"Will you not stay for supper?" Remus asked.

Mrs. Weasley's attention was less secretive. Althea vigorously shook her head.

"I really should go," she said, backing away from them. "My apologies to Dumbledore for the incorrect time."

Sirius frowned.

"Here, I'll—" Remus began, stepping forward, but Sirius held out his arm.

"No, I'll see Professor Morrigan out," he said and helped Althea onto the first step, "it is my home."

The two quietly ascended the staircase to the ground floor and before Althea could reel upon him and voice her displeasure, Sirius's lips were upon hers. Althea met Sirius's feverish impulse with her own. Giggling, she pulled away and grasped his hand, enticing him toward the stairs.

Sirius lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "My bedroom," he whispered and cast a Silencing Charm to her shoes. "Wait for me."

Althea nodded and cautiously climbed the staircases to Sirius's bedroom. Delighted that she did not encounter any stragglers, she grasped the door handle and stumbled forward—the door did not budge. _Berk_, she thought, jiggling the handle. _Of all the—_

"Really, Sirius," she muttered, taking her wand from her dress pocket. "Am I to wait here?" She pointed her wand at the door. "_Alohamora_," she whispered, but the door absorbed the charm. "Of course," she sighed.

Althea peered over the landing. Sirius, it seemed had just locked the front door. Looking up, he frowned at her presence. Althea motioned that the door was locked and Sirius threw his head back in mock despair. She beckoned for him to hurry. Sirius eagerly jogged up the stairs, taking two at a time until a nagging, whispering voice could be heard. Althea ducked into the shadows—her heart pounding against her chest. She would be thirty-five in two weeks and yet she must act as if she were seventeen and sneaking out the girls' dormitory. His boyish bedroom reflected the awkward clandestine nature of their current relationship. It was dismal to look upon the vacant twenty-year-old expressions of bikini-clad models while he fucked her. Now children at Number Twelve? She wondered if Sirius agreed to the arrangement or if Dumbledore ordered him to just as every other decision concerning his current situation.

"Will you join us, Sirius?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Sirius, annoyed, stopped and tossed the hair from his face. "No, Molly," he answered quietly. "I've got to feed Buckbeak."

"I'll leave you a plate—"

"No—"

"It shouldn't take that long, should it?"

"I'm not hungry—"

"I'll leave you a plate."

"No, it won't be necessary," he said, tightly gripping the railing. "Please, _don't_—don't trouble yourself—"

Mrs. Weasley sighed—Althea suspected it was rare a person went against her wishes. "Well, then."

"But, thank you, Molly."

Sirius went to take a step and Mrs. Weasley clicked her teeth. Althea shook her head when Sirius opened his mouth to retaliate. He frowned and continued up the stairs.

He helped Althea stand. "Sorry," he whispered and kissed her cheek. He pointed his wand at the door and five different jets of light escaped to unlock his door. "I forgot."

* * *

><p>Sirius's fingertips created small circles upon Althea's bare stomach.<p>

"The Weasleys live here?" she asked, stroking his spine.

Sirius nodded against her shoulder.

"When will you be kinder to Mrs. Weasley?" she asked quietly and Sirius let out a displeased sigh.

"When she avoids my business," he answered sharply.

Althea ignored him. "You should've returned to the kitchen. I wouldn't have left."

"I understand that," he said, lifting himself onto his elbows. "I loathe that I must act this way, but if she caught us—she's like an Auror."

"I think," she began, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, "she worries over you."

Sirius laughed. "I doubt that, lovely," he said and tossed himself upon the bed.

"A plate is waiting for you, you know."

Sirius sniffed as nodded. "I can't touch it out of principle."

"So you'll subsist on two-day old take-away, then?"

Sirius shrugged. "Scraps from Northfield."

"She wants you happy and well-fed."

"What does she know of my happiness?"

"She cannot hide her disapproval of me," she said, rolling on to her side. "I left you, remember?" she said and poked his chest. "To her, I'm the woman that broke your heart."

Sirius clasped her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. "Will you not stay the night?"

Althea removed her hand from him. "I can't," she said and placed her hand beneath her cheek. "They film again tomorrow."

"Again?"

Althea nodded. "The library," she replied and Sirius seemed to approve of the choice. "I couldn't cancel this. I signed papers—"

"Of course, of course," he said, his palm resting upon her waist. "God, I've missed you," he murmured and kissed her forehead.

"Sirius, I told Gran today—"

Sirius quickly sat up. "You did what?"

"I told her that I am pregnant—"

Sirius groaned, bringing his knees to his chest. "Oh, well done," he said, covering his face. He groaned and vigorously rubbed his face with his palms. He began to laugh. "Who else to kill me? I reckon I'll start a queue!"

Althea sat up and embraced him. "My love—"

He continued to laugh bitterly. "Why tell her? Oh—this is brilliant!"

"I told her because if I die, our children will inherit nothing."

Sirius lifted his head. "What d'you mean, nothing?" he asked, turning toward her. "You've got—"

Althea shook her head. "It's not mine," she said. "Northfield isn't mine."

"It's like this?" he said, pointing to Number Twelve.

Althea nodded.

Sirius sighed, resting his palm against his forehead. "How did you—?"

"When I was preparing for this documentary, I had my solicitors help—at least three centuries of Morrigans to comb over for anything remotely intriguing," she said and smoothed the grey silk bedclothes. "It was discovered that I would not be the last…a nineteen-year-old cousin—" She let out a mournful growl. "I knew my titles, but I thought…Northfield—it goes to him."

"Can't magic?"

"Our children are illegitimate," she explained, twisting the sheet between her fingers. "They will have some income, but Northfield, the land," she continued and flinched when she added, "our cottage won't be theirs. My home in Bermuda—"

Sirius enfolded her into his arms.

"Everything—every painting, every book, and piece of silver belong to him."

"What of Barbados?" he whispered encouragingly.

"It was performed illegally."

"We thought it real," he said, stroking her back. "We have witnesses—"

"You're a fugitive of the law," she said, resting her cheek against his warm shoulder. "How are we to explain our son? You've been missing in the mountains of Afghanistan for fourteen years."

"You found me—"

"I haven't been the most faithful wife."

"Look," he said, his fingers intertwined in the soft curl of her hair, "Kingsley heads my search…in the Ministry _and _the Muggle. Trust me."

* * *

><p>Prudence's infatuation with Major Dumont had wavered by that late evening. The girlish sympathy for his tragic circumstances was now pitted against his very stubborn notions for an eighteenth century male. Could Prudence reconcile her dimmed view? Althea quietly edged around the music room to join Gran upon the couch.<p>

"She hasn't played a single note, has she?" Althea whispered.

Gran nodded. "They argued after the Major insisted that being a witch was not an accomplishment."

"Where would she get such an idea?"

Gran gave Althea a knowing look.

"It was not her father, I can assure you," she said, crossing her legs.

"He does praise her for every spell," Gran replied. "_Lumos_ is not an accomplishment."

"It's encouragement—she'll be an Animagus by sixteen."

"It's vanity."

"You _must _practice at least two hours every day, Miss Prudence," Dumont encouraged as the two sat upon the piano bench.

"_Two hours_?" she replied and stuck out her tongue.

Dumont frowned at her. "Do not waste your accomplishments. I knew at least ten ladies who could write verse, speak at least three languages, paint, and play at least one instrument—"

"Just _one_ instrument?" Prudence remarked, arching her eyebrow.

Althea bit her lip as not to snicker.

"How are you to secure a husband—"

"I'm _thirteen_!" she squeaked, sitting higher upon the bench.

"Do not waste your talents, Miss Prudence," he said, his index finger jabbed the sheet music with each word. "You're too clever for boredom."

Prudence let out a little huff and began to play.

"The General was a fool," Gran whispered and nodded toward Dumont. "The Major speaks five languages, recites Pope and Shakespeare, is a poet, and has the most beautiful voice."

"Maybe he has some great-great-great nephew," Althea teased, massaging her stomach. "I might've found a way to save Northfield," she added quietly.

"You will meet with Honora?"

Althea nodded. "Within the week."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Thank you so much for reading!


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